


The Rise and Fall of John Lennon

by crybabycry



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: ABDL, Ageplay, Bedwetting, Daddy Kink, Diapers, Dom!Paul, Dubious Consent, Forced Infantilism, Forced diapering, Humiliation, Inexperienced!John, M/M, Non-Consensual, Pantswetting, Period-Typical Homophobia, Scat, Spanking, Sub!John, Urination, Wet & Messy, bottom!John, top!paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crybabycry/pseuds/crybabycry
Summary: John has always had a reputation as a tough guy, but that illusion shatters once the band travels to Hamburg and John can't hide his humiliating secret any longer: he's a bedwetter. To his horror, he's offered a choice... Go back to Liverpool or wear nappies.
Relationships: George Harrison/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Stuart Sutcliffe
Comments: 47
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a request for a fic where Paul forces John to wear diapers on Tumblr, and I felt the call to action! 
> 
> There's no actual explicit material in this chapter (not really), that will be coming in the second!

Whatever problem he encountered in life, John’s solution was to deal with it when he had to. Whether that problem was a maths test, a song whose words he hadn’t quite committed to memory, or even an irate girlfriend, he would think on his feet and try to escape from the situation with as much grace as he could muster. This didn’t always work— in fact, it rarely did. 

It wasn’t like Mimi hadn’t tried to warn him, but the second she had started talking, John’s face felt like it was engulfed in flames. “I’m going, and that’s the last of it!” he snarled, shoving his leather trousers and jeans into his suitcase, not bothering to fold them.

“Oh John, be reasonable,” his aunt said with an exasperated sigh. “You’re going to be sharing a bedroom with these boys, aren’t you? You know as well as I that you haven’t had more than a week of dry nights—”

“Mimi!” John howled, slamming his hand against the bedroom wall. “I am not a child any longer! None of my friends are going to know about… About…”

Mimi crossed her arms in front of her chest. “About your bedwetting, John. I know full-well you’re no longer a child, but your bladder didn’t seem to get the message. You are not magically going to be able to stop wetting during your sleep just because your friends are there.”

“I just won’t sleep,” John muttered, throwing an armful of t-shirts into his suitcase, and Mimi threw up her arms with yet another exasperated sigh. The sound was almost like a catchphrase when her nephew was around.

“Fine!” she cried. “I won’t say another word about it! If you won’t take the plastic sheets or the rubber pants, don’t cry to me when your little friends send you home because their room reeks of urine!”

The dirty, windowless rooms in the back of the Bambi Kino were decidedly less than glamorous, but John felt a slight degree of comfort seeing the thin, stained mattress, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to cause much more damage to this mattress than it already had. He had been unable to come up with a better solution to his problem the entire journey to Hamburg, so he opted for as little sleep as possible, propping himself up with Preludin and passing out for less than two hours a night. He had yet to have an accident in their first three days, so in one aspect, his plan was working perfectly. However, his bandmates were less than happy with his sleep-deprived irritability and temper.

“John, you have to start sleeping more,” Paul said, tuning his guitar as they sat backstage at the Indra, waiting for their set to begin. “You look practically dead on your feet, and it’s going to affect your performance.”

“Not once these kick in,” John replied, rattling his bottle of prellies at his friend. “And if you want to start talking about ‘dead performances,’ I wouldn’t start taking advice from you, McCartney.”

Paul’s pretty features morphed into a scowl, but before he could retaliate, Stuart cleared his throat awkwardly. Both John and Paul looked in his direction, obviously about to turn their irritation onto anyone within target. “Lads, we just need to finalize the song order for tonight,” he said, holding up the paper list in his hands in mock surrender. “But John, Paul’s right, those prellies aren’t magic. They’re good for quick bursts, but there’s no replacing sleep with ‘em.”

“What do you know, Dr. Sutcliffe?” John barked as he grabbed the paper from Stu’s hands. “I’ve got more important things to do than sleep. Like leading this fucking band, first and foremost!” There was silence. John felt the sting of rejection, but forced himself to read the paper before him. “I thought I told you to put ‘Twenty Flight Rock’ on here, Paul!” he said, squinting at Paul’s neat cursive handwriting. “That would bring the bloody house down!”

“Paul…” George murmured nervously, glancing towards John and then back down at his hands. 

“Ah, John,” Paul started diplomatically, “We just don’t think we’re quite there yet with that one. I think give it two or three more times in practice, then we’ll break it out, yeah? We don’t want to look like complete amateurs, right?”

Had he been sleeping enough, John probably wouldn’t have taken that request badly at all. It’s likely that he would have agreed with Paul, and nothing that followed would have occurred. But John had not slept for three days, only motivated by pills, coffee, and the deep fear of having his secret discovered, and he would not have his authority undermined, even if it was for something as minor as not playing a song. 

“The two of you are in cahoots?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing. “George came to you and told you he didn’t want to do the song? George, I’m the leader of this bleedin’ group, you come to _me_ with problems!”

“Christ, Johnny!” Paul snapped. “He just told me that he needs more time to practice it, like we all do! I’d bet a hundred pounds that you don’t know the words for that one anyway. George came to me because you’re acting like a lunatic about the smallest of issues, like Pete dropping his drumsticks.”

“That wasn’t even my fault,” Pete piped in, never having been too adept at reading the room. “All the chicken they serve, you never really get the grease off your hands.”

“Shut the fuck up, Pete,” John hissed. His head pounded, and his heart felt like he was running for his life even though he remained firmly in his seat. “Don’t you for one second think I don’t see what you’re playing at, Paul. I know you want to be the one in charge, but you don’t have the balls to kill the king and take the crown.”

“You’re being paranoid, John,” Paul said evenly. For someone who didn’t know Paul as well as John, they might think he wasn’t angry, but John could see behind the composed veneer to Paul’s true frustration with him, and it made him hate himself. He was well aware that he was acting unreasonably, but Paul’s continued coolness riled him further. Much like a child with a rock and a hornet’s nest, he needed to see what damage he could inflict.

“Do you really think the lads will accept a queer as their leader?” John asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr. Paul’s face flushed, his eyes flashing, but the other boys remained quiet. Though it had never been said out loud between them, they all knew of Paul’s predilections. Even though John didn’t even believe what he was saying, that had never stopped him before. “It’s perverted, you know that? We’d never make it to the top with someone like _that_ out in front, now would we?”

“Lay off, John,” George growled, shocking John into a peal of obnoxious giggles.

“Aww, listen to the little baby try to be brave!” he cooed, clapping his hands together slow and mockingly. Watching George’s cheeks turn red as he and Paul exchanged looks, John felt an unsettling conclusion fall on him, but instead of keeping it to himself, he blurted it out. “Don’t tell me you two— Christ on a cross, we’ve got two of them!”

“It’s none of your fucking business, John!” Paul yelled, slamming his hands down on the table before him, his chest heaving up and down with deep breaths that just barely contained his rage. “You leave George out of this. Rag on me as much as you’d like, but George is off-limits.”

Jealousy seethed deep within John as neither Stuart nor Pete backed him up; the two only pretended to be completely engaged with their cigarettes and sandwiches, and that none of this was happening. John knew there would be no winning this argument, so he made to leave the room, barking, “We’ll play the bloody song!”

He stalked to the bar where he motioned to the bartender, who had already learned of the band’s fondness for rum and Cokes. When he had it in hand, John downed his glass in two gulps, then motioned for another.

“Take it easy, Johnny,” a voice muttered beside him, and he turned to face Stuart sitting next to him, ordering a rum and Coke of his own. “We’ve still got a long set ahead of us. You don’t need to be getting blotto.”

“Or convincing Paul and George to find a different band?” John joked without any humor in his voice. “Thanks, great advice, Stu.”

Stuart paused, then took a gulp of his own drink. “You really think it was smart to do that to Paul? With what I know about you, Johnny—”

John’s guts felt like they had been stabbed with ice, and he grabbed Stuart’s skinny wrist in a vise grip. Though short and lithe, Stuart had a self-possession that could be expected in a man twice his size, and he didn’t try to writhe from John’s grasp. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” John hissed, staring into Stuart’s strong hazel eyes. “Are you threatening to tell the others?”

“I’m not,” Stuart said calmly, though his eyes darted to the backstage door, possibly sending psychic messages to the other band members to rescue him. “I’m only saying, it’s quite hypocritical to say those things about Paul and George. Also…” He paused again to finish his drink. “Paul may not be my favorite person, but it’s a bad idea to cross him. He’s too smart and too creative to take on.”

John finally loosened his fingers on Stuart’s arm, his digits aching from the effort. “I’ll take that into consideration,” he said. “But the next time I want your advice, I’ll fucking ask for it.”

“Ta, John,” Stuart replied, and didn’t spare a moment before making his way over to the artsy German students who had become enthralled with the English band, the blonde one making obvious eyes and making John sick to his stomach. He knew it was only a matter of time before Stu was bedding her, perhaps only feet away from John himself. Maybe he’d be able to hear them, and he could pretend the girl wasn’t even there at all.

Like a scene from a movie, the memory could play before his eyes at will: the drunken, sloppy kisses they had shared in bed were exciting and dangerous, John’s heart feeling like it could explode out of his chest. Stuart’s cock was hard and full between his legs, as was John’s, and they didn’t share a word between their kisses as they fumbled their way into each other’s y-fronts, nor as they came in an amount of time that would have been embarrassing with a girl. The first words John heard Stuart say after their encounter came with the sun streaming into his eyes, his head pounding from his hangover. “John? I think you wet the bed.”

John killed his rum and Coke and ordered another, as if alcohol could kill the memory he kept tormenting himself with. He was usually so good about keeping his secret just that. The only one of his friends who knew was Pete Shotton, and that was only because they had known each other since Pete had suffered from the same affliction. The only difference was that Pete had grown out of it, while John… He took great pains to never sleep at someone else’s house, or else lay in the dark all night, never allowing himself more than a few minutes doze. But that night he had been so drunk, and when Stuart touched his arm and asked him to stay, nothing else had seemed very important.

Stuart didn’t call him a hypocrite for what John had said about Paul, but it was the truth. The only difference was that Paul was comfortable in his own skin, loving men and women alike (or as John would say, fucking every living thing under the sun); John had never been further with a man than he had with Stuart, and would have done grievous assault to anyone who even thought to imply that he ever would. He tried to embrace his middling attraction to women, but most of the women he brought to bed felt like a chore, something he had to do to prove that he was a man, that he wasn’t a fairy queer like Paul, or a virginal child like George. No matter how enjoyable sex with women could be, it always felt to be something missing.

John stared at Paul help Pete lug his drum kit onto the stage; from across the room without his glasses, he could only tell it was Paul by his distinctive physique, but he still couldn’t stop staring. Of course he was attracted to Paul—anyone who met Paul was attracted to him. But Paul didn’t see anything wrong with living out in the open, and that scared John in a way he would never admit. _Everything was fine until you ruined it_ , John thought as he finished off the last of his drink before Paul could make his way over to him. _We could have just been two blokes in love with each other for years and years and nobody would have said anything until you make it bloody queer._

“John, come on, we’re on in ten, we’ve got to set up. You’re not soused, are you? Jesus Christ, John, I swear to God if you black out on stage—”

God but he was beautiful though. Even with a thin sheen of sweat and his righteous anger, Paul was the most beautiful man John had ever known, and he had to mentally shake himself to maintain his composure. “You’re not my dad, Paul,” he scoffed. “And you can’t tell me what to do.”

Paul shook his head, and swatted John on the shoulder until he stood from the barstool. “I may not be your father, but I could probably teach you some better manners than he did. It’s rude to keep your audience waiting, and it’s even ruder to pass out drunk and piss yourself onstage because you downed one too many drinks beforehand.”

John forced himself to laugh even as his stomach did a somersault, and suddenly the ground didn’t feel so stable underneath his feet. “All right, Daddy,” he slurred. “I’ll be a good boy from now on.” He stumbled towards the stage away from Paul, not lingering on the strange, aroused feeling in his core.

Paul was right about the song; Paul was usually right about everything. In John’s sleep-deprived, alcohol-and-poppers fueled state, even the songs whose chords he could play blindfolded seemed miles beyond his skill level, and each wrong note made him more frustrated, each lyric he couldn’t remember stinging like an arrow as the audience grew less forgiving of each passing error. When they got to “Twenty Flight Rock,” the song John had been willing to go to battle for, John felt like his tongue had swollen inside his mouth and missed his queue. He could feel George’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his face, then his guitar stumbled. Paul fumbled on the keyboard at George’s mistake, and John realized they were horribly offbeat. Finally, Pete stopped playing, and the only sounds in the club were from the audience, booing and jeering.

On a better day, John could have brushed it off, started over, and they could have gone on with the show. But under the harsh stage lights, the audience looked like smeared, howling specters, raving for retribution, and John’s guts lurched as he ran from the stage. He didn’t stop until he was outside, and emptied the contents of his stomach into the alley. 

“I bloody told you, didn’t I, John?!” He didn’t turn around, didn’t answer, so Paul shoved his back, sending John stumbling into the brick wall in front of him. “I told you we weren’t ready for the song, and I told you that you were making yourself unfit to play!”

“Do you want a fucking congratulations?” John croaked, his voice raspy from vomiting. “Good job, Paul, you were right, I’m a complete fuck-up! Happy?”

“No, I’m not fucking happy!” Paul growled. “You act like you’re the goddamn emperor of rock ‘n’ roll, but you’re really just a child you has no idea how to behave himself! Don’t you realize that your behavior reflects on the rest of us, not just yourself?”

“Same could be said for you, McCartney,” John spat. “You think I want a fairy like you in the band?”

Paul’s lovely face, the same one John found himself staring at so very often, twisted in pain. “You did before you knew that about me,” he said, so quiet John almost couldn’t hear him over the rowdy club patrons. “I’m the same Paul that you met that day at the fete. I’m the same Paul who taught you real guitar chords. What about me being queer changes that?”

 _Because now I know that you don’t want me because you’re straight, you don’t want me because…_ John tried to move away, but he was still slowed down by alcohol and Paul easily caught him by the front of his leather jacket. “Tell me what about me being queer makes you so uncomfortable, Johnny?” Paul panted. “Are you afraid I’m going to fuck you?”

“No!” John squeaked, much to his embarrassment, and Paul laughed. He struggled his way out of Paul’s grasp and ran a few feet down the alley, his heart pounding. “Look, I… You were right about the song. We’ll practice it more. I’ve got to… I can’t… I’ll be at the Bambi, okay?”

Even with his poor eyesight, he could see the scowl on Paul’s face. “Any other time, I’d give you shit for leaving instead of facing the music. Well, to the lack of music, in this case. But I don’t think you’d do any good on stage tonight. Don’t fall in the river and drown on your way back.” With a hard clicking of boots and a ferocious slam of the door, John was alone in the alley, stinking of sweat and vomit and the world swimming around him.

The walk back to the Bambi Kino was long and lonely, John blinking furiously to keep the tears just below the surface, and it was a miracle he made it back unscathed. He fell onto his cot, the ancient structure letting out an awful screech under his weight, and he pulled himself into a fetal position, finally feeling the long-held back tears slip down his cheeks and nose. Pathetic idiot, he thought, his mind roiling in his alcoholic haze. _No one likes you, John, and this is why. Even your mummy and your daddy didn’t like you, that’s why they left you. You’re just a baby who throws tantrums and wets his bed, you don’t deserve to be here._ He wished he could turn back time, back to before he ever suggested going to stupid bloody fucking Germany. Or back even further, back to when Julia was still alive and she would hold him in her arms, even as a teenage boy who already towered over his mother. She never made him feel stupid while she did this, never saying he was too old to behave this way— she only stroked his hair and whispered sweet words to him, sometimes singing lullabies until John drifted to sleep. How he wished he could be back inside her arms instead of this dirty, foreign room.

John let his eyes close as he nestled his head against the pillow. What made him think he could do this? He was in over his head, and he didn’t know how long he could keep it going before everyone knew it. Maybe he could confess to Paul, tell him the secrets he had been so scared of someone finding out, and then he’d be free of it. He couldn’t though; he knew he couldn’t. He despised himself with every atom of his being, positive that Paul must hate him this much as well. He couldn’t very well tell Paul that every barb he threw at him for being queer could have been directed at himself, not now. And there was no way he could tell Paul, or anyone, that even at nineteen years and ten months old he still wet the bed like a toddler. Paul was kind, Paul was his friend, but even Paul would laugh at him. He’d just close his eyes for a few minutes, then he could plan… 

There was a rough push on his shoulder, and John’s eyes flew open to see Paul standing over him, a confused and disgusted expression on his face. “John, have you pissed yourself?” he demanded, and John’s blood ran cold. 

“I-I was drunk,” John blurted out, stumbling to his feet, pushing past Paul to get to his suitcase, pulling out a dry pair of jeans. He didn’t stop to look at Paul before peeling the wet clothing off himself, his skin crawling at the sensation. 

“I know you were drunk, I was there. I mean, how were you this drunk? It hasn’t been more than three hours since you left, and you managed to throw up most of your booze in the alley. Is this normal for you?”

“It happens, okay?” John growled, struggling to pull the fresh jeans on over his wet and sticky legs. “Just let it be, don’t have a barney.”

“It stinks in here, John!” Paul complained. “Have you forgotten there’s no windows? How are we supposed to air out a pissy mattress?”

“Shut up about it, Paul!” John’s heart was pounding, his cheeks hot to the touch. “It was just a one-time freak occurrence. Don’t tell the other lads, okay?”

Paul pursed his lips, visibly deciding on what words to say before finally just nodding. “As long as it’s just this once. I won’t say anything. But you’ve got to do something in return.”

John knew as he opened his mouth that he would regret this, but it seemed he had no other choice. “Okay.”

“You’ve got to get regular sleep. Every single night. I’m not doing another show with you like you were tonight, John. If you continue to act like that, I’m done. I’m out of the band.”

John sighed, dragging his hand through his hair. “You’re right. You’re always right… Okay. I’ll sleep.”

“And no more making fun of me for being queer.” John’s eyes shot up, trying desperately to read Paul’s face as a strange little smile played across it. “I know you’re just jealous of me for having more lovers than you, but that’s what happens with you play for both teams.”

Despite the ball of anxiety in the pit of John’s stomach and the horrid humiliation he felt every time the stench of his accident wafted into his nose, he managed to laugh. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, Macca. But okay. I’ll sleep and I won’t make fun of you for being queer. Anything else is fair game though, right?”

Paul rolled his eyes, and John almost felt like everything would be okay. “I know you probably don’t want to…” he started, sitting down on his cot to pull his boots off, taking his time to carefully choose his words. “But I doubt you want to sleep on a wet mattress or go share a bunk with the other lads and have to tell them why… You want to tops and tails it?”

John’s heart fluttered, and he nodded, almost shyly. “We don’t have to tops and tails it though. I hate waking up with your feet in my face. As long as you promise not to molest me in my sleep…”

Paul smirked and laid down as far to the side as he could, making room for John to curl himself in beside him. He was so aware of Paul’s heat, and every second that passed felt like an eternity of waiting for Paul’s arm to finally wrap around his waist and pull him close into his strong and unyielding body. Paul was asleep for ages before John finally let his eyes fall shut and dream of both Paul and Stuart as his teachers, scolding him for his ill-preparedness for their class as he stood naked before them and an entire giggling classroom.

True to his word, John started getting his regular sleep along with the rest of the band, although sleep was anything but regular. The sets they played went long into the night, and the audience demanded high-energy, even at 4 AM. John did everything he could to prevent his nighttime accidents from occurring though—cutting out liquids hours before he went to sleep, waking up earlier than Paul to make sure that his sheets weren’t wet, and it worked for a few nights at least. It was inevitable that it would happen again however, and though John managed to hide his wet sheets, he knew that Paul could smell the odor as soon as he woke up. He didn’t say a word about it though, only remarked that he wished they had a window in their room.

It wasn’t made to last. Stuart and Astrid officially became a couple, less than two weeks into their German sojourn, and the rest of the band who hadn’t made out with Stuart thought it would be a cracking idea to take the happy couple out for rounds of drinks. John found it a good excuse to get wasted and become maudlin for the happiness that he maybe could have had. Though he wasn’t counting his drinks, Paul was, and when he gently suggested that maybe John had had enough, John told him to get fucked. The second he opened his eyes the next morning, he knew he should have listened.

It took him several seconds to realize that the pounding he heard wasn’t just inside his head, it was coming from their bedroom door, the barrier almost cracking under the weight of the blows. As Paul went to open the door, his heart began to pound as well as he felt the familiar wetness all around him.

Bruno Koschmider’s massive frame appeared, slamming the door against the wall behind it with the force of ten men as he pushed his way past Paul. His gigantic face was bright red and the smoking cigar in his mouth gave him the impression of an exploding volcano, and John had to pinch himself to keep from laughing, but not for very long. “It stink like urinal here!” the German bellowed, his broken English suddenly not as funny to John as it had been before. “I am not to pay for little boys to be pissing in my rooms! It smell of piss in whole hallway!”

“Herr Koschmider,” Paul said, glancing over at John as he sat up in bed, pulling his knees to his chest in an attempt to hide the wet stain on his sheets. “We apologize for the odor, one of us had more to drink than he ought to last night and had a bit of an accident trying to get to the head. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Koschmider glowered at Paul, then over at John, before letting out a brutal grunt of acceptance. “I am not nursemaid; if this is to happen again, you all go back to England.”

“Yes, we understand,” Paul agreed, attempting to urge Koschmider back out the door. “I personally will make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Koschmider made a disgusting sound, and it took John several seconds to realize he was laughing. “You are good boy, yes? You are the one in charge?”

Before Paul could answer, John exclaimed, “It’s _my_ band! I’m the one in charge!”

The smile faded from Koschmider’s face, and John could feel himself shrinking under the German’s glare. “I’ll take care of it,” Paul blurted out before there was another explosion. “I promise you won’t have another problem from us.”

“I count on you,” Koschmider said, clasping Paul’s shoulder in a friendlier manner than John had ever seen the man express. He finally took his leave, and Paul closed the door, facing John with a fire in his eyes as he leaned against the door.

“I had too much to drink,” John blurted out, trying to save face before Paul could say anything. “You were right, I should have stopped before—”

“It’s not the drinking, John,” Paul said. “I’m not stupid. I can smell the piss most mornings as soon as I wake up. That’s why you weren’t sleeping, wasn’t it? It’s been a week since that night, and you’ve wet the bed at least three times.”

It had been four times, but John felt like he was slowly falling into a volcano, his face growing hotter by the second, and he couldn’t respond. Even when a soft knock came at the door, he was frozen in his wet bedsheets.

“Paul? John? What’s going on, why was Kosch—” George cut himself off as he walked into the room, inhaling deeply. “Jesus Christ, it reeks in here! What—did—did John wet the bed?!”

“No!” John yelled, even though he might as well have had “bedwetter” tattooed across his forehead. “That’s not what happened!”

“That’s exactly what happened,” Paul corrected, his expression stern but amused, as George struggled not to burst into laughter. “He wet the bed last week and swore to me that it was the only time it happened, but that was a lie. He’s managed to wake up before me most days and get the sheets off his bed before I can see what’s happened, but I can smell it, and John ends up wetting the bed most every night.”

“He’s lying!” John wailed, not entirely oblivious to the irony of the situation. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he rubbed at them with balled-up fists. The pointless lies were piling up around him, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

“What’s all the hullabaloo?” a sleepy voice asked, and though John had never been very religious, he became a praying man as Stuart and Pete joined them, asking God to let him wake up then and there and for all of this to have been a horrible nightmare.

“John’s a bedwetter!” George crowed, more ebullient than John had ever seen him. “He wets the bed like a little baby!”

“I’m going to kill you, Harrison!” John growled, but he made no move from the bed, only pulling his knees to his chest so the wet stain on his sheets would be less noticeable.

Stuart blinked several times before a sly smile appeared on his face. “You know, he actually wet the bed when he spent the night with me a few months ago. He swore up and down that it was the first time it had ever happened, but I was sure that he was lying.”

“It’s not true!” Every lie that came out of John’s mouth felt more damning by the second, made him feel like a child trying to save his skin after his own naughty misbehavior, every denial making it worse. “I don’t wet the bed!”

“Oh?” Faster than John could react, Paul ripped the sheet off of John, revealing the huge, wet, yellow stain spreading over his mattress, John’s skivvies clinging to him. The rest of the boys exploded into laughter as John flailed in an attempt to hide his shame. “Koschmider said that if it keeps happening then he’s kicking us out. So what are we going to do?”

“Send him back to Liverpool!” Pete exclaimed. “He’s a prick and we don’t need him anyway!”

“I’m with Pete,” George agreed. “He’s nothing but a hypocrite! He constantly calls me a baby and makes me feel like dirt, and he’s the one who can’t even hold his bladder through the night.”

“That’s what he does,” Stuart said, giving John a dismissive once-over. “Why do you think he gives Paul such a rough time over being queer?”

John felt his heart stop. That was it; it was over. 

“Wait, what do you mean?” Paul demanded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “John’s— Really?”

Stuart chuckled. “Yeah, really. That was the night he pissed my bed! We got a little too drunk and I thought, what the hell, he’s always hinting at it and trying to touch me, I might as well give him a little fun. Came in about a minute and ruined my mattress too.”

George and Pete were practically doubling-in on themselves with laughter, but Paul looked almost serene. If John didn’t have Paul’s face memorized, he might have thought Paul was completely unbothered. But John knew Paul very well, and he recognized Paul’s scheming face when he saw it.

“Lads, I think we should go in the other room and discuss what we’re going to do. John.” John’s head shot up at his name, then immediately dropped back down. “John, why don’t you go wash these nasty sheets in the sink? That’s what you’ve been doing anyway, haven’t you? Then you can bring them back and use these clothes lines to hang them out.” He twanged the clothes line tied between the walls, smirking as he did so. “That’s probably another reason it smells so bad in here, apart from the piss. He’ll sneak out and wash his sheets in the sink, but he’ll just ball them up on the bed, they’re probably covered in mildew. Haven’t you ever done laundry before, you stupid boy?”

John couldn’t respond. He felt like his speech had been taken from him the moment Stuart outed him— he had trusted Stu, he couldn’t have done what he did with just anyone. But Stuart saw which way the wind was blowing, and John was the wrong horse to back. So when George and Pete threw their heads back and laughed at Paul’s question, Stuart did as well.

When they finally left, John jumped to his feet, flinging his wet underwear to the ground and feeling dizzy with self-hatred. _You stupid fucking idiot, you fucking moron!_ he swore at himself, pulling on dry clothes and rushing to the toilet shared between themselves and the Bambi Kino’s customers. Fortunately he had the room to himself as he shoved the bedsheets into the sink and began to scrub with the powdery soap provided. For the thousandth time, he thought about the rubber pants Mimi had begged him to bring, and if he had, could all of this have been avoided?

The other boys were gone by the time John returned to their quarters, but that was fine with him. He hung out the wet bedsheets and flipped his mattress, the wet spot from last time having dried out in the interim. He laid back down, and instead of crying like he wished he could, smoked cigarette after cigarette until he fell asleep, his head swimming from smoke and nicotine.

He woke up to the sounds of Paul returning to their room, his usual happy, bustling self as if nothing had happened earlier. “Get up, sleepyhead!” he crooned. “We’re gonna go get some victuals before we have to go on. You wanna come with, or would you prefer to stay here with your stomach growling?”

As if on cue, John’s stomach let out an enormous groan, and they both laughed. The band joked around as they ate their English-style fish and chips, a little slice of home in a foreign country, but no one said a word about what happened earlier. Despite everything, John felt himself start to relax. Perhaps nothing would come of it? Maybe Paul spoke to them and convinced them not to make fun of him. The knot in his stomach slowly began to unravel, and by the time their set was over and they were heading back to the Bambi Kino, he had nearly forgotten what had transpired this morning. No one else had though.

He was about to walk into his and Paul’s shared bedroom when Paul said, “Ah, Johnny? Can you join us in the other room for a minute?” He didn’t think it odd when George and Pete trailed him in the door, or when Pete closed the door and stood in front of it, as if on guard. Gradually, he noticed everyone’s small smirks, and the way their eyes kept darting to a large powder-blue paper bag on the scarred wooden table. Paul sat at the table, and gestured to the chair directly across from him. “Take a seat, Johnny.”

“Tell me what the fuck’s going on,” John growled. He moved to turn away from the table, but George and Stuart grabbed him by the upper arms and shoved him into the chair. John gasped loudly, too shocked to fight back, and Paul chuckled.

“We discussed your little ‘problem,’” Paul began, lighting a cigarette and letting it dangle between his fingers nonchalantly, “and we decided that there are only two options. One: you leave on the next train to Liverpool in the morning. We don’t need you to keep playing, and you know that. You can be great on stage but you’re constantly forgetting things and frankly, you can be a liability.”

John opened his mouth to protest, but Paul stopped him with a wave of his cigarette. “Ah-ah! Not until you know the second option! Which brings us to number two: you start wearing nappies to bed.”

It felt as if a blood vessel popped in his brain— all John could hear was static. His aunt had consistently threatened him with nappies throughout his childhood and adolescence if his troublesome bedwetting persisted, but always relented at the last moment due to John’s desperate, humiliated sobs. Despite how much of a troublemaker John could be, he didn’t wet his bed on purpose, and she knew how much it tormented him. Wearing nappies would have been the ultimate shame for a young man like John, and Mimi didn’t have it in herself to inflict that on her nephew. To be confronted with the object of his childhood nightmares, here, like this… John was paralyzed as Paul pulled a stack of folded white cloth nappies from the powder blue bag, along with talcum, wipes, and nappy pins, aligning them neatly along the table.

“We’re lucky that we were able to find this shop,” Paul said, gesturing towards the nappy supplies. “A little medical supply shop, specializing in people who have troubles with incontinence. The lady who worked there spoke a little English, she was surprised that we were buying all of this for a boy who’s only nineteen years old! She said nappies are for either end of life, not for the middle.”

The other boys laughed, but John didn’t turn to look at them. His eyes were glued on the table. Could he really do this? It would be beyond humiliating, but so would going back to Liverpool with his tail tucked between his legs. Mimi would pick him up at the train station with that knowing, disappointed expression painted all over her face, “I told you so” already coming out of her mouth. Everyone in town would know that John Lennon couldn’t hack it in Hamburg because he wet the bed. Before John truly thought this through, he whispered, “I’ll… pick the nappies…”

As the others whooped and hollered, Paul flashed a sweet toothy smile, and leaned over to take John’s sweaty hand in his own, squeezing slightly. “Good. I didn’t want to see you go, Johnny.”

John’s heart throbbed painfully at that, but he had no time to reflect on that feeling before Stuart and George were standing him up and undoing the button and zip of his leather trousers. “Hey, what the fuck are you doing?!” he yelped, squirming in their arms. “Stop, goddammit!”

Paul chuckled, watching the scene before him unfold. “If you can believe it, Johnny, we don’t really trust you to put the nappies on yourself. We know how much you lie, and it’s just easier this way. I’d be checking you every night anyhow, just to be sure.”

“This is sick!” John spat. “You just want to get at my cock, is that, Paul?”

Paul’s warm expression disappeared, replaced with a look of utter disdain. “I could get a cock like yours anywhere, Johnny. I could even get one that doesn’t leak piss during the night. Isn’t that right, Stu?”

George and Pete roared with laughter as Stuart merely chuckled. “I sure wish I had put him in nappies that night!”

“Fuck you!” John screamed at Stuart, spittle flying into his face. “Fuck all of you!”

“Get his trousers off,” Paul ordered, and Stuart pinned John’s arms behind his back as Pete and George both peeled the leather pants down his legs, struggling not to get kicked by John’s flailing feet. John’s y-fronts came down immediately after, and the obvious stains on the white fabric made the others groan in disgust.

“Bloody hell, do you not know how to wipe yourself, Johnny?” George demanded, holding the underwear up so everyone could see. 

“Look at those skidmarks!” Pete scoffed, giggling like a hyena, more invested than John had ever seen him act about anything. “I think he might need to be re-potty trained!”

“I just don’t have any clean pants!” John whined. “Please, they don’t normally—”

“Normally grown-ups know how to wipe their bummy after they’ve gone poopy, Johnny,” Stuart said mockingly, and John felt himself shrink at least a foot as everyone laughed once again.

Paul took a nappy in his hands and spread it out on the table, patting it flat. “All right, let’s get him up here.”

Stuart and Pete tried to grab hold of John, but he scrambled away. “You’re not going to do it!” he cried, a frenzied rasp in his voice. “You can’t make me!” Paul grabbed hold of his left wrist, and before John could swing around and bring his right fist into Paul’s nose, George tackled him, sending them both crashing to the ground. 

“Get off!” John howled, bucking underneath George’s surprising weight. The concrete ground was cold on his naked lower half, but he still wore his leather jacket, and he felt like he was suffocating. 

“Good job, George,” Paul praised, “now help get him over my lap.”

Lap? George’s weight disappeared, and John was ungracefully hoisted up. He saw that Paul was seated at the table once again, but before he could comprehend what was happening, John was hanging over Paul’s lap, Paul’s leg threaded between his, locking him into place. “You could have just behaved, Johnny,” Paul remarked thoughtfully, then brought his flat palm against John’s bare arse hard.

John screamed in pain. He had never had a high pain tolerance, not ever, and Mimi only had to hint at a spanking when he was younger to keep him in line, and Paul’s callused hand felt a thousand times harder than Mimi’s old hairbrush. By the fifth spank, John was already sobbing, fat teardrops rolling down his face as he blubbered and wailed. By the fifteenth and last spank, John was limp on Paul’s lap, and let himself be lifted onto the table without argument.

“God, he really is a baby, isn’t he?” George asked, glee dripping from his voice. “Only fifteen spanks and he completely gives up?”

“Oh hush, George,” Paul said teasingly, standing in front of John on the table, a wide and amused smile on his face. Stuart and Pete held down his shoulders while George stood by, looking on in captivation. John could only the imagine the state of himself— his face wet and ruddy from tears, snot bubbling at his nose, half-naked with his backside bright red from Paul’s blows. But somehow, Paul said, “He’s adorable like this.”

As it so happened, Paul was very capable when it came to baby care and changing nappies. “You all know my mother was a nurse, God rest her soul,” Paul said, conversationally as if he weren’t running a cold baby wipe over his friend’s genitals. “She made sure that Mike and me knew all of our first aid essentials, and that we knew how to take care of babies. I think she may have just expected to use us as cheap labor though.” John gasped Paul grasped his ankles and lifted him up as if he weighed nothing, and again as he ran the wipe through John’s crack. “Oh dear, Johnny, you really need to wipe yourself better!”

John felt like he would explode; he had never been so humiliated in his entire life, but despite everything, perhaps because of it, the humiliation became… arousing. And to John’s horror, he felt his cock start to rise. 

“Oh, hello there!” Paul exclaimed, like he was talking to a small animal, and another round of laughs echoed around the room. “See, Johnny, you’re coming to like your nappies already!”

Paul finished wiping John down, then opened the large bottle of baby powder and sprinkled it liberally all over John’s pelvic region. He rubbed it in gently, bringing John to full-mast as he did, though he purposely never touched the stiff member. John’s body wasn’t on display much longer as Paul pulled the front panel of the nappy over him, instructing the other boys on how to properly fold and pin the garment into place. 

It was finally over, and John was released. He sat up, looking down at his mid-section in horror. The nappy felt so thick around him, and it seemed impossible that his trousers would fit over it. As mortifying as the situation was though, his erection persisted, throbbing desperately in the soft cloth, and it felt… It felt amazing.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it now?” Paul cooed, stroking John’s hair back. “It’s going to get a lot easier after that.”

John couldn’t answer. He only wanted to go to bed and sleep until the end of time; it was as if his battery had been completely drained of all its juice in one intense go. He blinked at Paul, his vision watery from his tears. “Can I go now?” he whispered.

“Yeah, let’s go to bed, love, I’ll help you.” Paul helped John off the table, and as he stood, the nappy shifted against him, and he nearly gasped at the sensation. Paul quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. 

“Good night, baby Johnny!” Pete called, Stuart and George chiming in with similar sentiments, and Paul escorted John out of the room with their voices still following them. It felt surreal, walking down the hallway arm-in-arm with Paul, wearing only a nappy with his t-shirt and leather jacket, but soon they were back in their own room, and John collapsed onto his cot, a shuddering sob escaping him.

“Are you okay, Johnny?” Paul whispered, sitting beside him and stroking his hair. Paul had never touched his hair before, but John loved it, and it made him feel slightly better.

“Does everyone hate me?” he whispered back, tears welling in his eyes once more. He had already cried more tonight than he had cried in the last two years, and now he couldn’t seem to stop.

“No, love, no one hates you!” Paul gushed. “I think you just may have… underestimated how some of your comments have made people feel in the past, and… someone might see it as a bit of payback.”

Every single mean thing John could remember saying ran through his head, and he began crying outright. “I didn’t mean it!” he sobbed. “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna wear nappies!”

Before he realized what was happening, Paul was scooping him up into his arms and cradling him on his lap, shushing him and rocking him gently back and forth. John knew he should have found this humiliating, but he couldn’t. He turned his face into Paul’s chest and wept, all of the pent-up emotion and fear he’d held over his secrets being discovered exploding all at once.

“That’s all right, baby, just let it all out,” Paul murmured, running his fingers through John’s hair. “We’re not making you wear nappies to be mean, Johnny. It’s just a necessity brought on by your little situation. It doesn’t… have to be all bad though…” Paul’s hand slipped down between John’s legs, stroking the front of his soft nappy. “It feels like someone’s still a little excited down there.”

John blushed deeply, feeling his cock stiffen once again. Christ, why was this affecting him so much?! Could it be just because it was Paul? Or… John shook that thought away, it was too much to deal with tonight. “Paul… I don’t… You shouldn’t…”

“You don’t want this, baby?” Paul whispered in his ear, and grabbed his crotch firmly, making John gasp. “Don’t lie to me anymore, Johnny. Lying could have dire consequences, do you understand? I can stop right now, and we can go to sleep, but this nappy is going to be pinned exactly the way it is now tomorrow morning, and you’re not going to be able to get your hand in there to play with your little willy.”

John let out a high-pitched moan at those words, shocking himself but apparently not Paul, who only grinned and rubbed at John’s crotch faster, working himself up into a good rhythm. “Oh, that’s so cute, Johnny!” he cooed as John panted and squirmed in his arms. “C’mon, you can do it! You’re so worked up already, it’s gonna feel so good to make a nice big squirt in your nappy!”

There was a strangled cry and John spasmed in Paul’s arms as he came in his nappy, rocking furiously until his ecstasy passed. Sick reality slammed down on him— how could he have let himself do this? And so easily at that? Yesterday, he was the leader of this group, and now he was nappied like a baby, letting himself be masturbated by the very person who had put him in this humiliating thing. But unless Paul forced him to admit it, John could never tell anyone that was the fastest and most explosive orgasm he’d ever had.

Paul didn’t try to deepen the wound however. He pressed his lips to John’s forehead chastely, much like a father would do to his child. “Ready to sleep?”

John nodded, and Paul pulled himself up from the bed. He pulled a pair of pajama pants out of John’s luggage and threw them over to him, before pulling off his own leather trousers and jacket. John struggled to pull the pajamas all the way over his nappy, and once on, he was acutely aware of how much his midsection ballooned out.

“Don’t worry about it,” Paul said soothingly, settling into his own bed. “After a while, the other boys won’t think it’s so funny.”

“Maybe,” John whispered, and that was all they said. After a while, John could hear Paul snoring, and even though he felt like death, he couldn’t fall asleep. The nappy seemed almost electrified, and every time he felt it squeezing between his legs, a sharp shock of arousal ran through his entire body. As he finally drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he should have just agreed to go back to Liverpool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised a sequel to "The Sum of Them" and I promise that I'm still going to do it! I just got really into this idea, but then I struggled with it for a while, and I really didn't mean for it to be this long or even two parts, but I wanted to do it justice, you know? Anyway, the lovely comments I get on my fics help me thrive and really give me the motivation boosts I need for writing this stuff, no lie! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it was going to be two chapters but then I just kept writing! The next chapter will be up eventually, and hopefully it doesn't become four!

When John woke in the morning, there were a few moments of relief before he felt the sopping wet nappy between his thighs and the memory of last night crashed onto him like the ceiling. Without opening his eyes, he slid his hand beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms, in between his legs and touched the nappy gingerly, as if it was some disgusting insect. The cloth was wet to the touch, and John let out a small whimper of embarrassment. Despite how regular of an occurrence it was for him to wake up wet, being in a nappy made it feel a hundred times more infantile.

“Good morning, Johnny!” 

John’s eyes flew open at the sound of Paul’s much-too cheerful voice directly next to his ear. “What’s the matter with you, Paul?!” he groaned, pulling his pillow over his face. “It’s too early to be so chipper!”

“It isn’t early, it’s two in the afternoon. Let’s see how these nappies worked out for you, hm?” Before John could react, Paul had already stripped the sheets off of him and pulled his pajama pants down, exposing his yellow-stained nappy. Speechless and frozen, John kept the pillow against his face as Paul stroked the diaper and patted the mattress around John’s nether-regions. “Not bad!” he exclaimed, giving John’s crotch a firm squeeze. “You did leak a little, but that’s my fault, I should have gotten you the plastic pants too. I thought about it, but I just didn’t realize you were _such_ a heavy wetter!”

John moaned into his pillow, and to his horror, his cock began to swell once again. He couldn’t fathom why this babyish humiliation turned him on so much, but thankfully, Paul didn’t call attention to it. He could hear the smirk on Paul’s face however when he said, “All right, Johnny love, let me change that wet nappy for you.”

“No!” John gasped, yanking the pillow down from his face so he could meet Paul’s eyes and his attractive smirk. “No way, I may let you put me _into_ them, but I can change myself!”

Paul’s smirk transformed into a more patronizing smile, the one John had seen hundreds of times before— the smile that meant John was very wrong, and it was only a matter of minutes before Paul proved it.

“Is that right, Johnny?” he crooned, and John blushed at his saccharine tone. “From the looks of your knickers last night, I think you do need help cleaning your hard-to-reach areas.”

“Fuck off, Paul!” John cried, but as soon as the words left his lips, he knew they were a mistake.

Paul’s face darkened like a summer storm cloud, and faster than a viper, he grabbed John’s wrist and wrenched him from his prone position in bed to over Paul’s lap. John wriggled and writhed, but there was no way to escape, and Paul’s hand came down on his padded bottom over and over again. 

“Naughty boy!” Paul grunted. “You are not to speak to me, or anyone else, in that manner ever again! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Paul!” John wailed, already willing back his tears. The spanks hurt much less than last night, mostly due to the generous cushion his nappy provided, but the humiliation was exactly as vibrant. If he had thought the way his nappy felt when dry was good, the feeling of a wet nappy pressing against his growing erection while pinned over Paul’s thigh was nirvana.

He could feel Paul’s chuckle as much as hear it, low and dark like the rumble of thunder, and red posies bloomed on John’s cheeks. “You don’t really hate getting a spanking as much as you let on to, do you, Johnny? Or your little nappies.” He gave John one more hard smack, then pulled him up so they were face-to-face.

“I do hate them,” John insisted, embarrassed but sullen. His erection stuck out obviously, emphatically, tenting the front of his nappy, and Paul’s eyes went directly to it. “I don’t do this because I like it! How would you like to be spanked for something you can’t even control?”

Paul reached out and stroked John’s flaming cheek gently. “I promise I won’t do that,” he said, and John was dumbstruck by Paul’s sudden softness, able to turn on a dime but so effortlessly that it felt completely genuine. “I mean it, John. I won’t spank you for wetting the bed, I know you can’t help that. Misbehaving yourself, on the other hand…”

“You won’t in public, will you?” John’s heart started racing at the thought, the mental image of Paul yanking down his trousers on stage and spanking him right there in front of a howling audience sending chills down his spine and straight to his cock. 

“I won’t,” Paul said, pulling himself up onto his knees and carefully positioning himself at the foot of the bed, silently persuading John to lean back onto the mattress without a fuss. “I won’t treat you like a baby in public if you don’t give me reason to, Johnny.”

John stared up at his younger friend, his heart _thump-thump-thump_ ing so hard he thought he may be having a coronary. Last night almost felt like a dream, but he was wide awake now, and Paul was rubbing the front of his nappy, squeezing it around John’s erection. He wanted to moan deep and loud, but his voice failed him, and all he managed was a pathetic squeak.

“Oh, you’re so cute like this, Johnny!” Paul gushed in a loud whisper, and stroked the nappy vigorously for several moments before pulling his hand away again. John nearly cried out, almost begged Paul to put his hand back, but bit his lip before he said anything to further damage his reputation. 

“Sorry, love, I forgot you don’t fancy fairies like me getting you off,” Paul said with a slightly haughty air and a sly look in his eyes. “Now why don’t we get that nasty, wet nappy off of you?” 

John didn’t protest as Paul removed the safety pins that held the nappy in place, but he felt like all the air had drained from his lungs, and he was almost in a state of suspension as the nappy was pulled open and John’s shame exposed. 

“My, you really are a heavy wetter,” Paul muttered as he removed the nappy from underneath him, and pulled a baby wipe from its container. “Spread your legs wide, Johnny.” 

John was silent but obedient during the ordeal, even as Paul cleaned his bottom with great attention and care. No one had ever touched him there before, and instead of his breath feeling drained, now it felt snatched, as if a spirit had reached down his throat and ripped it from him. When Paul had cleaned every bit of John apart from his penis, he placed both his hands on John’s knees and simply looked at him until John said in a raspy voice, “What?”

“Ask me nicely to make you come.”

John’s mouth dropped open but nothing came out. Could he…?

Paul pulled his hands off of John, moved as if to leave. “Oh well, no matter to me—”

“No!” John gasped, and grabbed Paul’s arm. “Please! Please… make me come?”

Paul laughed and moved back into his position. “There we go! You can do a little better though, can’t you?” He took a fresh baby wipe, and began to stroke John’s cock with it, slowly and evenly, watching John’s face and not what his hand was doing.

“Oh God, please, Paul, just like that,” John whispered, bucking his hips up into Paul’s hand. “Please make me come, Paulie, I need it so bad, I need it more than anything, please, please…”

“That’s it, Johnny,” Paul whispered back, speeding his hand up and finding rhythm with John’s hips. John could already feel his climax building, within reach, when Paul said, “That’s a good boy.” John threw back his head, orgasming violently with a loud yelp, his hips bouncing furiously underneath Paul.

When he finally opened his eyes, Paul was still staring at him, with big eyes and a wide smile, and John wished he could simply crawl into a hole. “I think someone likes being called a good boy,” he crooned, and John hid his face behind his hands as Paul finished cleaning him up. “If you give me reason to, I’ll call you a good boy again.”

“You’re not going to tell the others, are you?” John asked, only removing his hands from his face once he felt Paul’s weight disappear from the bed. He let the used nappy fall to the floor with a wet plop, and John shuddered at the sound. 

Paul dropped loudly onto his own cot across the room from John, smiling like a fox at a chicken. “Are you embarrassed?” he teased. “More embarrassed to be wanked off by another bloke than you are to wet the bed?” 

John didn’t respond to that, only stood to find a clean pair of y-fronts; he never thought he’d be so grateful to pull on underwear. Paul lay back, watching him, one leg propped on the bed with his knee in the air. It was obvious he was aroused, but John took pains to ignore him, even though his bright red blush never left his cheeks.

“You need to wash that nappy out,” Paul said, finally lying on his back, not looking at John while he spoke. “Go clean it in the sink, then come back and hang it on the line.”

“What are you talking about?” John sputtered. “You got a whole bag of nappies, why should I have to clean that one?”

Only Paul could make an eye roll audible. “We’re not throwing away a perfectly good nappy because you piddled in it, Johnny, how immature can you be? All of those supplies cost a lot of money that we all put in for. We’ve got to go back to the nappy shop anyway to buy those plastic pants for you, so you can buy yourself a whole load of new nappies while we’re at it, sound good?”

“N-no,” John said meekly. “Do we really have to go to…”

“The nappy shop?” Paul finished loudly, and John flinched. “If you want to keep leaking onto Koschmider’s mattress and get us all kicked out, then I suppose not. But if you want to take responsibility for your little problem, then you’ll go with me. It won’t be until after Friday though, not until we get paid. We’re just going to have to pay attention to how much you drink before you go to bed, okay? Or else just put two nappies on you.”

“Okay,” John whispered. The thought of double nappies filled him with dread, but it was only Wednesday— how long could he hold out? For what felt like the millionth time since last night, he felt the tears well in his eyes as he grabbed his wet nappy and scurried to the loo in just his t-shirt and underwear, praying that the other boys weren’t there.

He was hopeful as he entered the restroom, his eyes scanning over the row of sinks. The coast seemed clear. He made a beeline for the sink, but that was when one of the stall doors banged open, half-scaring John out of his skin and making him drop the nappy.

“Aw, did I scare you, baby Johnny?” George giggled, sauntering out of the stall. “Did you go pee-pee because you were so frightened?” John _did_ have to piss, and maybe a droplet or two escaped him when George burst out, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit it. 

“Very funny, George,” John spat, and tried to grab the nappy off the ground before George could, but he was too slow. 

“Eugh!” George cried, holding the used diaper by the very edge between two fingers as far away from himself as he could. “God, you really soaked this thing, didn’t you?”

“Give it back!” John screeched, his heart galloping like a stallion. “George, stop it, give it back to me!”

“Jesus… is this… Is this _cum_ , Johnny?” He thrust the nappy in John’s direction, gesturing at the noticeable crusty white stain, enhanced by the yellow discoloration. John had never seen someone’s expression struggle between disgust and hysterical laughter so egregiously, but George seemed to be nearly in tears as he shook with silent laughter.

“It’s not cum!” John lied, and George bust out laughing then, doubling in on himself. “It’s not! Now give it back to me before I have to beat you black and blue!”

“Wait till I tell Stuart and Pete,” George chuckled, and he threw the nappy at John’s feet. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? Bunch of boys getting you naked and putting you in a nappy, not exactly my idea of a good time, but you couldn’t wait to go and rub your tiny little cock in it.”

John snatched the nappy up, throwing it in the sink beside him. “Fuck you,” he hissed. “I know you fooled around with Paul, you’re just as queer as he is.” He couldn’t stop himself from saying it, despite knowing exactly how disastrous it would be for him to be discovered to be doing the exact same thing.

He obviously touched a sore spot because George’s amused, disgusted expression transformed into a deep scowl. “You don’t know anything about me and Paul,” he growled, his dark brows furrowed over his even darker flashing eyes. “I may be queer, _baby Johnny_ , but at least I have more than a tiny, leaking prick between me legs!” 

“I’m going to kill you, Harri—!” 

Before John could even finish his sentence, George lunged at him, but to John’s surprise, he wasn’t attacked with fists or feet or even teeth. George dug his fingers into his sides and began _tickling_. 

“No!” John gasped in between gales of giggles, and he could feel a few more droplets fall from him. “George, st-stop!”

“Why, are you going to have an accident, _baby_?” George snarled, and slammed John’s body against the bathroom stall before reigniting his attack, but the damage was done. John’s floodgates burst, and piss streamed down his legs and onto his bare feet, making George jump back in disgust. “I knew it! It barely takes anything for you to piss yourself like a child!”

“You made me do it!” John howled, shaking with tears and sobs. “You fucking bastard, you made me—”

“Johnny!” The door to the bathroom slammed against the wall behind it with a furious bang as Paul stormed into the bathroom and immediately pinched John’s ear, making him squeal in pain. “Have you wet yourself standing right in front of a toilet?! This is what you do instead of washing your nappy, you naughty boy?”

“But George made me!” John wailed, stamping his feet in his little puddle and trying to wriggle out of Paul’s grasp. “He was being mean to me!”

“That’s not true, Paul!” George said, making John howl in frustration. “I was just about to brush my teeth, Johnny was the one who started it!”

“He’s lying!” Even though this time John was telling the truth, it wasn’t like anyone would believe him now.

“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” Paul sighed, releasing John’s ear. “I didn’t think I was being too lenient on you, but now I see that I was. Let’s see… From now on, you’re going to be wearing nappies whenever we’re at the Bambi. Maybe if you get shamed enough, you’ll learn how to behave yourself a little better.”

“But—But I don’t need nappies during the day!” he sputtered. “Please! Paul, don’t make me do this!”

Paul quirked one of his expertly-shaped eyebrows. “You don’t?” He ran his eyes down John’s body, lingering on his now transparent underwear. “You could have fooled me.”

“No, please!” John sobbed, balling his hands into fists so hard that his fingers turned white. “Everyone’s going to laugh at me, Paul!”

Sweetly, Paul patted John’s wet cheek, looking him straight in the eye as he said, “That’s the point, darling.”

“Did you see that he came in his nappy too, Paul?” George asked much too excitedly, and John shot invisible daggers out of his eyes in the younger boy’s direction.

“I did, George,” Paul said coolly, patting John’s red cheek once again. “No one’s going home with a big baby in nappies, so we may as well let him have his fun!”

He was right. In all of the excitement and humiliation, John realized there was no way he could bring a girl back here, not with a stained nappy hanging on the line and four friends eager to tell her what a baby he was. He turned his back to Paul and George, trying to hide how upset he was becoming. George kept laughing and throwing insult after insult at him, but Paul, who always seemed to have an innate sense of John’s moods, quieted him down.

“I think he’s got the point, George,” Paul said, patting John on the shoulder. “Johnny, you can wash out that nappy and your knickers by yourself, right? You don’t need me to show you how to do it?”

John shook his head, fearing that if he spoke, he would start crying once more. Paul let his hand linger on John’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before he removed it. “Okay. Come find me when you’re finished and I’ll put you in a nice, fresh nappy.”

“Okay,” he whispered, and he didn’t look up as the two of them left. John ripped the wet underwear off of him, disgust and slight arousal crawling over him like ants. Turning on the water, he washed himself first, wetting some paper towels and running them over his still-wet, slightly sticky groin, legs and feet; he then let the water run over the used diaper and nearly ruined y-fronts, the material growing heavier and wetter by the second. He scrubbed until it felt like his hands were bleeding, but the yellow tinge remained on the nappy, and when he hung it on the line in their room, it felt like a beacon of shame.

Instead of returning to Paul like he had said he would, John was able to slip out without saying a word to any of the others, and spent the hours waiting for their call time wandering around the foreign city, loitering as long as he could before getting told off by either shopkeepers or police officers. He knew that there would be hell to pay once he did return, but it was easy to distract himself from his impending doom. Every so often, he’d wish Paul was there with him, making jokes and imitating the people that they would sit and watch like they had back home. It already felt like a lifetime ago that they had been so easy with each other.

By the time he showed up at the Indra, nearly dizzy with the anxiety of anticipation, Paul only looked at him with a cool detachment. The rest of the band ignored him. “Good of you to show, Johnny,” Paul said, handing John his guitar. “Go ahead and tune up.” He didn’t say a word about the nappies. To his surprise, none of his bandmates said anything, acting as professionally as one could expect a group of teenagers to act. Still, they ignored him, and that was almost worse.

After their set, the boys all walked back to the Bambi together, George and Paul chuckling over the burly sailor who had wept all over his dancing partner during their rendition of “Bring it on Home” while Pete and Stuart roared over the blonde with the big cans who drunkenly told them she adored Elvin Peesley. John walked behind them, removed from the group, feeling more alone in that moment than he felt possible. He just wanted to crawl into bed and cry before his inevitable nappy. As he was about to head into his and Paul’s room, Paul gently grabbed him by the bicep.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he crooned. 

“I-I’m tired,” John stammered. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Aww,” Paul said with an exaggerated pout. “The baby is tired? Is that because he went out and played all day after I said that he needed to wear nappies whenever he was here?”

John’s guts went ice-cold as he realized how angry Paul was. “Paul, I’m sorry, I just… I had to get out of here! I don’t know what I was thinking, I—”

“I don’t know what I was thinking letting you out of my sight,” Paul said, and John was immediately aware that Paul’s grip on his bicep was tightening. “Get this through your little baby brain, Johnny— I am in charge now. And you are going to wear your little baby nappies whether you like it or not.” Though the words sounded cruel, Paul’s tone wasn’t, and John felt much like a chastised child, coming home with dirt and grass stains on his church clothes.

John struggled helplessly as Paul forced him into the other room, but stopped dead in his tracks as the other boys all cheered when they entered. “Look, boys, baby Johnny is here!” Stuart announced, swaggering up to the frozen boy still held in Paul’s vise-grip. “I hope you had fun today, baby Johnny,” he whispered, pinching John’s blushing, chubby cheek, “because it’s the last time you’re going to be allowed out unsupervised.”

“Everyone knows what happened earlier, Johnny,” George said with a large, shit-eating grin. “They know about your cummy nappy and your little ‘accident’ in the loo.”

“You made me do that!” John wanted to scream, but the words came out just above a harsh whisper. “You tickled me and—”

The room burst into mocking laughter. “He _tickled_ you?!” Pete chortled. “Jesus John, if you were going to make up an excuse, couldn’t you pick a better one than that?”

“You’re right, Paul, John apparently does need nappies all the time,” Stuart said, a sly smile on his face. “But just at the Bambi though? How do you know he won’t piss himself on stage?”

John’s heart stopped in his chest, praying that Paul wouldn’t agree, but fortunately for John, he didn’t. “We’ll just have to take that chance,” Paul said, tightening his grip on John. “You’ve seen how bulky those nappies are, he wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that he’s wearing them under his trousers. We don’t want to humiliate little Johnny that badly, do we?”

George grumbled, Stuart rolled his eyes, and Pete only lit a cigarette, but Paul had spoken, and that was the end of it. Before John could ruminate on how it used to be him that only had to speak to lay down the law, Paul leaned in close to John’s ear and whispered, “Don’t test me on that, Johnny. If you keep acting like a big baby who can’t help himself, that’s the way I’ll treat you, even in public.”

John whined, and he felt a few tears slip from his eyes and down his cheeks. “Paul, please, don’t do this,” he blubbered. “I only need them at night, I swear!”

Paul released John from his grip, only to stand before him, lifting John’s chin up with his fingers to meet his eyes. “It will be okay, Johnny,” he said kindly and quietly. “Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?”

_Shit_. Those words had a magic effect on John, and his cock went from flaccid to erect at a moment’s notice, his head spinning from the effect. Mouth dry, he nodded silently.

“That’s a good boy!” Paul said cheerfully, and it felt like John got struck in the head, but in the best possible way. “Now come along, Johnny, let’s get you into that nappy before you have an accident!”

Almost against his own will, John felt himself being led to nearest bed, the lower bunk bed that no one used which had become the resting spot of all John’s nappy supplies. Paul laid him down before removing his shoes, and then his leather trousers, peeling them down and off John’s legs, letting out a little laugh when he finally exposed John’s hard member. 

“What did you say to him?” George demanded, looming over John’s prone body as Paul slid a nappy underneath John’s hips, tapping John’s soft, chubby thighs to signal “lift up.” John felt like he was under a spell, watching himself from outside his body but obeying all of Paul’s commands as he quickly and expertly diapered him. “Why is he behaving all of a sudden?”

“The baby,” Paul began, pausing as he spread a liberal amount of baby powder over John’s privates, “absolutely _loves_ to be called a good boy. Ironic, seeing how often he acts like a naughty one!”

John couldn’t help it—he moaned, loudly, writhing under Paul’s hands as he rubbed the baby powder into his skin, the words reverberating in his head: _good boy, naughty boy, the baby._

Everyone, including Paul, burst into surprised laughter at John’s reaction. Stuart and Pete joined George beside the bed, peering down onto John and making him feel so tiny by comparison. “He must really love this, don’t you, baby Johnny?” Stuart said, leaning down to tweak John’s nose, and John wished he could be swallowed by the ground. “Can’t believe I ever let you toss me off! I’ve got to get my head examined.”

John choked back a sob while George and Pete laughed cruelly. Paul, to his credit, frowned but didn’t say a word as he pinned the nappy into place. Stuart was trying to do everything in his power to separate him from the spectacle that was John— he was John’s friend after all, the one who brought him into the group. He had to prove to the others that he wasn’t like this shameful baby, and he didn’t condone such behavior either.

“I bet it was awful as well,” George replied, staring pointedly at John but glancing at Paul. “Bet he didn’t even know what he was doing.”

“Aye, it was surprising,” Stuart laughed. “We all know how much time Johnny spends playing with his little willy, I’d’ve thought he’d know how to handle one better!”

John hid his face in his hands as the trio laughed again, but Paul just ignored them. He felt Paul’s hands underneath his armpits, and before he knew it, he was being hoisted up. “Up we go, darling!” Paul grunted, straining slightly under John’s weight. John was stood on his feet, his toes pointing inward at each other as his knees trembled, looking teary-eyed at his tormentors. The nappy felt even bigger and more obvious than last night.

“Oh, poor little baby!” Paul teased, wiping a tear from the corner of John’s eye. “Cheer up, Johnny, why don’t you play a game of poker with us, huh?” He reached into the interior of his leather jacket and pulled out a pack of playing cards with illustrations of an attractive, semi-clad women on the front, the cellophane wrapper still intact. “Nicked ‘em earlier today. You in?”

He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his cot and sleep until he was one hundred years old, but he knew that he had no choice in the matter. He nodded slowly, and Paul’s smile turned into a wide grin. “There’s my boy!” he cooed, and despite everything, John felt a warm ball unfurl in his stomach. 

As the game got underway, John’s situation was more or less forgotten, as long as John kept quiet and didn’t draw any attention to himself. George still threw out a snide remark every once in a while, and Paul took care to ask, much too sweetly, if John needed anything several times, to which John rejected every time. John was the first to fold; he didn’t really want to be playing anyway, but that didn’t release him from the game. Pete was on course to win the meager pot cobbled together from what extra cash they had, but tensions were high as Stuart and Paul tried to claim the prize. George had folded not too long after John— he was much drunker than John had originally realized.

John felt the urge long before he worked up the nerve to say anything. The feeling of his bladder filling and beginning to pulsate with pressure was almost pleasurable, and he squirmed in his soft nappy. The cotton felt so good pressed against his bits, it would be okay if he waited a few minutes more before completely humiliating himself once again, wouldn’t it? He underestimated how attentive Paul really was.

“Johnny, stop squirming,” Paul snapped, barely looking up from his cards. “What’s the matter?”

John whined quietly, too embarrassed to say the words. That’s what made Paul finally look directly at him, and his expression changed from exasperation to a sly smile. “Ohh, does baby need to go peepee?”

John’s face reddened, and the pressure on his bladder seemed to get much worse. “Please, let me go to the toilet! I can make it, I don’t have to use my nappy!”

“Sorry, Johnny,” Paul said, settling back in his chair. “One of us would have to take you and unpin your nappy for you, and we’re not leaving in the middle of the game. You’re not to be trusted to do it yourself.”

John gaped while the rest of the boys stared at him with laughing, hungry eyes. “Paul, please!” he begged. “Please, I can’t hold it that long! And I don’t want to— to go in m-my…”

“Aww, the little baby wants to use the toilet like a big boy!” George giggled, stumbling to his feet and over to John, just barely avoiding knocking over the table entirely. He slumped over with his head on John’s shoulder, his arms snaking down his torso and between John’s legs, squeezing his thick nappy roughly. “You’ve got a perfectly good toilet here, baby boy!” he growled playfully but John wanted to cry in fear. He was trapped in George’s arms, unable to run to the loo, and everyone was looking, and everyone was laughing, and George was _stroking_ him— John cried out as his urine burst out of him, the nappy becoming hot and damp to the touch. At some point, he began crying too, only taking notice when he tasted the salty water on his lips.

“He’s doing it!” George crowed, right in John’s ear. “He’s really wetting himself! It barely took anything, and he’s even hard too!” He gave John’s nappy a hard smack, and John squealed pathetically, writhing in George’s arms. 

“Let me go!” he sobbed, blubbering and choking on his own spit and snot. “Please, I just wanna go to bed, _please_!”

“Let go, George.” Paul’s voice was low but dangerous, like guard dog who never barked. George released him, and John found himself being lifted into Paul’s arms, supporting John’s nappied bottom as John wrapped his legs around Paul’s waist and buried his face in Paul’s neck, bawling his eyes out. “There’s been enough teasing Johnny for one day, he’s done.”

“Are you barmy?” George demanded. “You know damn well that if it was one of us in this situation, John would absolutely torturing us! He’s a fucking child who can’t take a dose of his own medicine, and you know that, you just—”

“George, you’re drunk,” Paul said in that low, dangerous voice. “Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

George opened his mouth, as if to argue more, but quickly thought better of it. He returned to his seat, throwing himself down onto it, and guzzled more beer. Paul shook his head, but he only said, “Careful there, Georgie. We don’t need someone else to have an accident during the night.”

John didn’t look up from Paul’s neck as they left the room, and not until Paul laid him down on his own bed. The room was blessedly quiet, away from the braying laughter of their bandmates. John squeezed his legs together, and the hot wet nappy pressed against his still-hard cock. As good as it felt, he was overcome with a fresh wave of tears; he bit his lip, trying to hold the flow back as he looked up at Paul, blinking rapidly. He had never been such a crybaby before in his life.

Paul never told him to stop crying though, merely stroked his sweaty hair and smiled sweetly. “It’s okay, darling,” he whispered. “Go ahead and cry all you need to.” 

So John did, sobbing and squalling like an infant, in a way that he hadn’t done since childhood. At some point, Paul lay down beside him and held his body close, tracing small, comforting circles on John’s back. Eventually, John had run out of tears but still Paul hadn’t said anything, hadn’t pulled back or stopped drawing those circles on John’s back. They lay together in silence, the only noise audible in the small room their heavy breathing. 

Paul’s hand started to circle lower and lower, down to the small of John’s back, then the waistband of his nappy. John’s heart started to beat faster, his flagging forgotten erection suddenly raring to go once more. The hand traveled lower, down to the seat of the nappy and between John’s legs, squeezing gently. “Such a good boy,” Paul whispered. “Wetting your nappy so easily for us.”

John moaned quietly, rocking his hips against Paul’s thigh. Paul got the message, and his hand moved to the front of John’s nappy, squeezing and stroking the slightly damp and tented fabric, while his other hand took John’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You’re such a baby, do you know that?” he teased, a grin spreading over his handsome face.

John opened his mouth to protest but a loud squeal emerged instead as Paul’s ministrations suddenly became faster and rougher, and Paul laughed in surprise at the sound. “It’s true, you’re just a big baby!” His voice adopted a more exaggerated, comical tone, much a like a parent talking to their real baby, and as much as John truly hated it, _detested it_ , it made him buck in Paul’s arms, writhing and gasping as waves of aroused humiliation washed over him. He was so close, he just needed… Paul leaned in close, his mouth right next to John’s ear, and he whispered, “Such a _good baby_.”

John came, hard and shaking against Paul, who continued to hold him through it, whispering “good baby” over and over again. He could feel Paul’s erection pressing strong against him, but when he reached down to stroke between Paul’s legs, that’s when Paul finally stood from the bed, leaving John to look up at him with a confused stare.

“Let’s get you changed, little one!” Paul said, slightly flustered but not bothering to address what just happened, and bustled around to gather the nappy supplies. John didn’t try to fight or argue— it felt like his bones had been liquefied and he was simply putty under Paul’s hands as he quickly changed him into a fresh nappy. It wasn’t an unpleasant experience, if he was forced to admit it, but his mind roiled from Paul’s rejection. _He doesn’t want you_ , he thought, the idea feeling like the stab of a knife. _He’s only playing with you like this because it’s funny. Because there’s no way anyone ever would with a big baby like you._

“All done!” Paul cooed when he secured the last nappy pin. “Do you need anything, darling? Do you want me to stay with you until you go to sleep?”

John’s words had left him; all he could do was manage to shake his head slightly and turn on his side to face the wall, ignoring how stung Paul sounded when he tried to cheerfully bid him good night before leaving the room, presumably rejoining the other adults in the band. Despite feeling like he had cried enough in the last two days to fill the Thames, he cried himself to sleep, hugging himself and wishing that it was Paul instead.

When Paul woke John up the next afternoon, he was immediately on edge the moment he opened his eyes. “Good morning, sleepyhead!” Paul chirruped, a wide smile on his face. Easy for him to be so cheery, waking up without a sopping wet nappy between his legs. 

“Looks like you didn’t leak last night,” Paul said, stroking the front of John’s nappy, though not the same way he did last night. This was clinical… Parental. John couldn’t explain why, but the realization filled him with such anxiety, such resentment. Not just at Paul, but his bandmates, his aunt, himself, the whole bloody world. He didn’t say a word while Paul changed him, and Paul didn’t attempt to coax John into hardness. 

It was as Paul was pinning the safety pins of the fresh nappy closed when John finally said, “You don’t want me, do you? That’s why you wouldn’t let me touch you last night?”

Paul met his eyes with surprise. “What? No, Johnny—”

“Why would you?” John interrupted. “I’m a laughingstock. I’m pathetic. I get it now, you were just having some fun with me, and I’m not good enough to touch you. I got the message loud and clear.” 

“Is that why you got so upset last night, darling?” Paul reached up to stroke his cheek and despite himself, John leaned into it. “I wasn’t doing it to tease you, I promise. I wanted to, I’ve want—” Paul cut himself off, and it was his rare opportunity to blush, but despite the flush in his cheeks, his eyes had a flinty determination. “You have given me so much ever-loving grief ever since I told you I was queer, but I hoped against hope that you didn’t mean what you said. I’ve wanted you a long time, Johnny, but you never gave me an inch until I put you in these nappies. Not until I started being mean to you. I need to know if you want to touch me because you want me, or because you… you think you have to.”

John could feel the wrinkles depress in his forehead as his eyebrows shot upwards. “I-I didn’t know you— Paul, you never…”

Paul crawled on top of him, slowly, predatorily, and all of John’s senses zeroed in on him. “To be completely honest, Johnny… I’ve never been more attracted to you than I am like this. So vulnerable, blushing, crying, willing to obey orders… I’ve always been turned on by the thought of someone completely submitting to what I say.” He brushed John’s fringe back from his forehead. “This wasn’t what this started out as though. The nappies were the solution to a problem, and I… Well, I wanted to be mean to you, at least at first, but now— Now I…”

“It’s okay, Paul,” John whispered, licking his lips, his eyes involuntarily flicking to Paul’s mouth. “I— I want to. I want to do what you say.”

Paul reached forward and ran his thumb over John’s lower lip, making the boy gasp and let out a tiny, breathy moan. “If you do,” he murmured, “I’ll let you touch me. And I’ll really touch you, not just through your baby nappy. Can you do that, Johnny? Can you be a good boy for me?”

“Yes!” John moaned, his head spinning as he felt Paul’s rock hard cock against his thigh. “I’ll be a good boy, I promise!”

“Good,” Paul said with a sneaky smile, and suddenly, his pleasant weight had disappeared and John was left alone on the bed. He whined but Paul held a finger up to his lips. “Uh-uh, baby! No complaining! You said that you would do what I say!”

John groaned but he nodded, and sat up, both his and Paul’s erections going untended. Paul helped him dress; the nappies were too thick to fit under his jeans and almost too thick for his leather trousers, but with Paul’s assistance, the zipper was just able to fasten. It was obvious that John was wearing something underneath, but he couldn’t go out there in just a nappy, he just couldn’t. 

He was able to wash out his used nappy in the bathroom without any interference like yesterday, and get it hung on the clothesline. No sneaking out today— not with a giant baby’s nappy under his trousers. He reluctantly joined everyone in the main room, but none of the other lads immediately started throwing barbs at him. He suspected Paul had said something to make them lay off; even though it had been McCartney to force him into wearing nappies, he felt that only Paul had a soft spot for him and his “little problem.” Even though he was unusually quiet, as they ate their lunch together and listened to German radio, it was almost like it was before. It was almost normal. That is, until John felt the urge.

It came on fast, and much like last night, John couldn’t immediately come up with the nerve to say anything. He couldn’t though… He couldn’t do that in his nappy, surely! He kept waiting, hoping if it waited long enough, there would be an opportunity to talk to Paul privately, so he wouldn’t have to say it in front of everyone.

The clock kept ticking but John was no closer to a lucky break than he had been. Swallowing his pride, he stood and shuffled over to Paul, sitting at the table between George and Pete. “Paul, will you let me go to the toilet, please?” he mumbled, praying that George and Pete somehow wouldn’t hear him.

“Haven’t we been over this, Johnny?” George smirked. “You’re wearing your toilet, _baby_.”

John blushed as everyone laughed. “Paul, please, I’ve… I’ve gotta…” He paused, not wanting to say the actual words, but ended up blurting out, “I’ve gotta go number two!”

The room exploded in laughter, and John felt like his face was on fire, but Paul stood up. “All right, Johnny,” he giggled. “That’s a very good boy for telling me you needed to go!” Despite his patronizing words, John felt like beaming at the praise, until Paul said, “I’ll take it off once we get to the loo, okay? We wouldn’t want you having an accident!”

“I can go by myself!” John protested, and Paul shook his head as if to say, _listen to this dumb little baby._

“Darling, someone needs to stay and watch you,” Paul insisted gently, stroking his hot red cheek. “Someone needs to wipe your little botty when you’re finished! We all saw your dirty knickers, you need to be taken care of.”

“No, no, you can’t!” John wailed. He did want to obey Paul, he wanted to be Paul’s good boy, but he couldn’t do this! How could Paul make him do this?!

“I can,” Paul said firmly, “because you’re going to let me. You’re either going to let me do that, or you can go ‘number two’ in your nappy. Those are your only options, baby Johnny.”

John swallowed hard, and his pride went as well. This was a test, a test to prove that John could be obedient, and he so desperately wanted to pass. He gave a tiny nod, and said in a small voice, “Okay.”

“What a good boy!” Paul crooned, and John hated the way that made him feel so much better. Paul took him by the hand and led him to the restroom; George, Pete, and Stuart trailed them, hooting and hollering the entire way. John felt like he was in a dream as Paul removed his shoes, trousers and then his nappy inside the bathroom, the other boys looking on. Wearing only his socks and black t-shirt, Paul walked him directly to the stall and even helped him sit on the toilet, but to his horror, he didn’t leave the stall after that. Instead, he stood directly in the door frame, crossing his arms in front of his chest as a small grin spread over his face. 

“Paul, please,” John begged, squeezing his thighs together in a vain attempt to keep from answering nature’s call. “Please, I can’t go with you watching me!”

Of course that’s when the three other band members ran over to join Paul in the doorway, already laughing. “Look, Johnny’s such a big boy!” Stuart mocked. “Is Daddy Paul potty-training you, Johnny? I don’t think you’re ready for it!”

“Shut up!” John howled, praying to a God he wasn’t sure existed that no one would walk into the restroom during this exhibition. It was getting harder and harder to hold on, and his face had begun to sweat profusely from the effort. He knew he shouldn’t have talked back, but Stuart’s words reverberated in his head: _Daddy Paul, Daddy Paul, Daddy Paul—_

He expected Paul to scold him for speaking to Stuart that way, but instead Paul said, “Yes, _do_ shut up, Stuart! Try to be a little more supportive of Johnny, this is difficult for him!” He moved closer to John, stroking his cheeks while looking down on him. John moaned softly, his prick stirring despite this dreadful humiliation. 

“That’s a good dear, Johnny,” Paul murmured. “Now… Can you go poopy for me?”

John whined loudly as the other boys went into hysterics behind him, but both John and Paul ignored them. John closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Paul’s hand on his cheek and thinking the word _daddy_ over and over. He took a deep breath, and all of a sudden, it was happening.

“He’s actually shitting!” Pete yelled, laughing so hard it was possible he would shit himself next. “You’d have to put a gun to my head to make me do that!”

“Look at his little cock,” Stuart scoffed. “He’s hard as a diamond, he must _love_ this! Thank God I didn’t get any further involved with him, I wouldn’t be caught dead wiping a big baby’s arse.”

Paul stayed close to John, stroking his hair, whispering sweet words in his ear as he sobbed in shame, but at Stuart’s words, he pulled back and spat with venom in his voice, “Stuart, I told you to shut your mouth. You’ve done nothing but kick Johnny when he’s down, for what? To convince us that you really aren’t queer? Well, _darling_ , I believe the lady doth protest too much, and besides, we all know you’re barely bigger than John, anyway.”

Stuart’s face turned bright red, making his freckles pop against his flushed skin. “Fuck you, McCartney!” he cried. “I think you’re a pervert just like him!”

“Who’s to say,” Paul said coldly. “But if you’re just going to stand there and make poor Johnny cry, then go ahead and leave. That goes for all of you.”

Stuart let out a loud _hmph_ and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him, but Pete and George stayed behind, looking on in shocked curiosity. Paul turned back to John, wiping the last of the tears off his cheeks. “Are you okay, love? All finished?”

John managed to give a small nod, and Paul helped him to his feet, then turned him around so his backside was facing George and Pete. “Bend over for me now, Johnny,” Paul said gently, and he put his hand on the small of John’s back, urging him down. Heart pounding, John obeyed without a word, even as Paul nudged his legs further apart. With a large wad of scratchy toilet paper, Paul gave John’s crack a preliminary wipe and to John’s horror, he moaned at the sensation. Pete and George were laughing again, but he couldn’t help it. Paul chuckled too, patting John’s back. “There’s my good boy,” he praised. He didn’t sound disgusted at all, but slightly breathless.

It couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes, certainly no longer than five, but to John it felt like eternity, standing there on display while Paul wiped his bottom clean. As much as he hated the nappies and everything associated with them, the scratchy paper made him long for the cool, soft baby wipes and the way Paul would lift his legs up in the air while he changed him. Through the whole ordeal, his erection never flagged, begging Paul to touch it, but he never did. 

“Almost done, Johnny!” Paul announced, and though John couldn’t see his face, he knew there was a twinkle in his eye. “Just one more thing…” John felt his cheeks spread, and suddenly, Paul’s wet thumb stroked John’s arsehole and slipped inside. For a second, John’s vision went black, but the coursing waves of pleasure incapacitating him was the sure sign that he had just orgasmed, untouched.

“I _knew_ you were fucking him!” George cried. “Really, Paul, I’m not good enough for you but _that_ is?!”

“George, can we talk about this later?” Paul pleaded. He struggled to hold John up, whose legs seemed no longer able to support his own weight. “Help me get him onto the changing station!”

“Christ, do it yourself,” George muttered and skulked out of the restroom, leaving only Pete, alternating his wide-eyed stare between John and Paul and the door. After a few moments’ hesitation, he moved forward and helped Paul carry the limp John to the baby changing tray mounted to the wall. John realized what they were doing and tried to protest, but his mouth couldn’t form the words he wanted to say.

“Shh, Johnny,” Paul murmured. “Don’t complain now, we’re just going to put your nappy back on you.”

_But I’m not a baby_ , John wanted to scream. _I don’t belong on this thing, I don’t need a nappy!_ Instead of saying any of this, he simply began to cry again, blubbering as desperately as any infant. The changing tray was only just big enough for him, and it was never more obvious to him how absolutely ridiculous he must look, but Paul merely stroked his hair and dabbed his tears away with a napkin.

“Poor Johnny,” Pete said, brushing back John’s sweaty fringe from his forehead. “I was just going along with Stuart and George, but… I dunno. I think they may have some issues I don’t really know about. I didn’t want Johnny to feel this bad, I just wanted to tease him for how much he always yelled at me.”

“I know, Pete,” Paul said, clapping a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “You’re a good egg. Just help me keep those two from upsetting Johnny too much, all right?” 

Paul quickly changed John back into his unused nappy, taking care to wipe his jism away with a wet paper towel first. John didn’t say a word through the process, nor as Paul helped him dress or walked him back to their room. It wasn’t until he sat John down on the bed did he say, “Are you leaving?”

Paul sat beside him. “Do you want me to? I was going to ask you if you wanted to take a nap. You seem completely bushed.”

“I…” John trailed off, his cheeks flushing as he searched for the words. “I wanted to… To touch you now…”

“Ah. I see.” Paul reached out and stroked John’s red cheek, and John nuzzled into the touch. “You’re a very sweet boy, Johnny, wanting to make me cum.” His tone was teasing, but somehow, John wasn’t embarrassed at this. Paul’s words were like hot cocoa, pooling in his stomach deliciously. “I want you to know that I do want you, very much so,” he whispered, leaning close to John’s ear. “But I also want you to be well-rested and ready to learn, love.”

John whimpered, his body quivering under Paul’s proximity. “Tonight? Please, please, Paul, I need to…”

“Tonight, darling,” he promised. “But only if you take a nap for me, okay?”

John smiled, maybe the first real smile he’d had in days. “Will you… Will you read me a story before I go to sleep?” Ordinarily, he would have been too ashamed to ask, but Paul smiled broadly and grabbed John’s well-loved copy of _Through the Looking Glass_ from beside the bed. 

“Where do you want me to start, baby?”

_Baby_. John shivered. That was the first time Paul had called him that as a pet name, not just an embarrassing adjective, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. “Start with the walrus,” John murmured. The two lay down in the cot, John snuggled close to Paul underneath one of his arms, his eyes closed as Paul began to read aloud.

At one point, not long after Alice had departed from Tweedledee and Tweedledum, John’s thumb had found itself lodged deep in his mouth, the boy suckling sweetly as he slept. Paul didn’t try to wake him or make any comment about it, but read until the end of the chapter, never letting his hold on John slip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how happy I am with this, but I really hope you guys liked it!!!


	3. Chapter 3

On stage that night, John couldn’t access any of his normal bravado. Though he had been performing in front of crowds for years, he felt incredibly shy, as if it was his first time. Even Stuart, ordinarily the stoic sort while performing, displayed much more enthusiasm than he could muster. Maybe it was because Astrid was there, sitting with Klaus at a table close to the stage; every so often, Stuart would lower his pretentious sunglasses and wink at her. John would have been fuming but he thought of Paul and his promises of what to come, and he swallowed his jealousy. 

The show went well enough, he thought. He hadn’t really been paying attention for most of it, too distracted by Paul’s sweaty, beautiful face and his strong hands and his thick bulge… He felt frenzied, like a wild animal, wishing he could throw his guitar off and rut against the amplifier until he was gratified. How could Paul possess him like this? 

John prayed that after they packed their gear up that he and Paul could go back to the Bambi and finally engage on what Paul had promised, but luck was never on his side. “Drinks with Astrid and Klaus!” Stuart announced. “They want everybody there, it’s on them.”

“Paul, I wanna go home,” John whispered, tugging petulantly on Paul’s jacket sleeve. 

“Come along, Johnny,” Paul cajoled, stroking his cheek. “Just one or two drinks, then we’ll go home, okay?”

John nodded silently and trudged behind the rest of the group over to the large table where Astrid and Klaus sat. After the band finished their set, most of the bar patrons had left, leaving only the art college students and a handful of tipsy Germans, two gentlemen who were particularly smashed doing their own renditions of “Tutti Frutti.” Astrid rushed to Stu and planted her lipstick-heavy lips on his while John lit a cigarette and tried to look anywhere but at them.

Seconds stretched into minutes which became an hour, and John was still sitting there, his arse growing numb. He probably hadn’t said a word in about 45 minutes, but everyone else in the group seemed to be having a _wunderbar_ time. He hadn’t been able to focus on what they were saying— with six people at the table, German and English conversations overlapping with the sounds of the bar, his brain felt like an overheating engine. _I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home_ , he chanted over and over, wishing Paul could somehow hear him.

“You lot would not believe what Astrid can do with a camera,” Stuart boasted. “Mark my words, she’s going to be a world-famous photographer in no time.”

“I would love to photograph you all,” Astrid gushed, a slight flush to her pale cheeks. “I think you are all…” She paused, then turned to Klaus and said a German word. 

“Very photogenic,” Klaus finished. “And I agree!”

“Oh, do you now, Klaus?” Paul teased. “How flattering.”

The table laughed, except for John. “It’s a good idea!” Klaus insisted. “If Astrid photographs you, it’s good promotion for both her and the band.”

“I know the most perfect place too,” Astrid said, reaching across the table and taking Stuart’s hand in hers. “There’s an abandoned train station, not too far from here. We could drive us all there on Saturday.”

“I think that’s an incredible idea,” Stuart said, pressing a light kiss to her fingers. John wished he could vomit. He hated having his picture taken at the best of times, but now… He felt so unsure of himself, so ashamed of everything about himself, and he couldn’t stand the thought of having this version recorded for all of history.

“I’m game!” Paul chimed in, placing a hand on the small of John’s back. “Johnny? What do you think?”

John was startled; no one had talked to him in at least half an hour. He knew he should just smile and agree, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them: “I don’t wanna go, Paul.”

“It’ll be fun, Johnny,” Paul said gently. “Come on now, Astrid was very kind to offer this to us.”

“I don’t want to!” John whined, cringing at the obnoxious tone in his voice. He sounded just like a shrill child.

Stuart chuckled but his eyes were mean. “We’ll be there, Johnny included. All Paul has to do is say so.”

Astrid looked confused but still amused, like this was all a joke she hadn’t understood yet. “Has John lost a bet?” she asked.

“Johnny is just a little baby,” George answered, smirking at the poor boy who sat gobsmacked across the table. “And Paul is his daddy. You’ll do anything Daddy says, right, _Johnny_?”

“Shut up, George!” John’s voice was high and tight in this throat, and he felt tears pushing their way to the surface. His heart pounded in his chest, sickeningly. He could sense the other bar patrons looking over at them, their eyes burning holes in the back of his leather jacket.

“I don’t understand,” Klaus said with a frown. “Paul is John’s… father? How is that—”

“Nope, Johnny pisses himself like a little infant and Paul takes care of him,” George said, a vicious smile twisting his handsome features. “He has to wear nappies so he doesn’t ruin Koschmider’s mattress and get sent back to Liverpool.”

John jumped up from the table, the empty beer bottles clattering, some falling over. His knees were shaking, as was his voice. “I’m going to fucking kill you, George!” he cried, and he would have lunged at the younger boy if Paul hadn’t grabbed him by the wrist.

“Johnny.” Half a register below his normal speaking voice, Paul’s calm tone froze John in his spot. “Johnny, sit down.” He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the shocked faces of Astrid and Klaus, the derisive faces of Stuart and George, and Pete who looked like he wished he had joined any other band, then obeyed, sitting back down quietly at the table.

“See?” Stuart said with a small laugh. “He’ll do anything Paul says.”

“Stuff it, Stu,” Paul snapped. “As for you, George, how dare you? I told you that this was to stay between us, there’s no reason to expose Johnny like this.”

“Don’t they have a right to know?” George replied, his eyes flashing. “After all, preparations have to be made before photographing a _baby_.”

If John had blinked, then he would have missed it; without a moment’s hesitation, Paul grabbed his half-drunk beer, and splashed it in George’s face. An excited little laugh escaped him before he could stop himself, but Paul took his hand in his and stood up. “We’re going home. I’ll talk to you lot tomorrow.”

It was hot, even for a late summer night and John was sweating as soon as they left the bar. “Here,” Paul said, and John found himself being stripped of his sweltering leather jacket, then Paul did the same to himself, carrying both their jackets on his arm.

“Thanks,” John whispered, suddenly teary once again, but this time, Paul leaned in, holding his face while he looked deep into his eyes and stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. 

“It’s okay, Johnny,” he said. “Klaus and Astrid won’t tell anyone.”

“You don’t know that,” John whimpered. “You didn’t think George would tell.”

Paul sighed, raking a hand through his thick hair. “I know, and I’m sorry. George shouldn’t have done that, I can’t believe that he— Look, I’m going to pay George back for doing that, all right?”

“Why won’t you tell me what happened between you two?” John demanded. “He’s out to get me, Paul, and it’s not just because I’ve been a prick to him. You know that.”

“I’m too tired to fight tonight, Johnny,” Paul said, wrapping his arm around John’s shoulder in a way that signaled there was no room to argue and pulling him close to his body. 

“Do I have to go on Saturday?” John begged, burying his face in Paul’s chest. “Please, I don’t… They _know_ , Paulie! How can I look them in the eyes?”

“I’ll be there,” Paul whispered. “I’ll be there to take care of you. If anything happens, I’ll be there to fix it. Okay?”

Despite a thousand doubts and misgivings, John nodded. “O-okay.” 

Once back at the Bambi Kino, John’s pulse began to race as he sat down on his bed, watching Paul strip down to his skivvies. The sparse curls that trailed down Paul’s abdomen and disappeared behind his underwear made his mouth water, his mind overloading with images of Paul’s thick cock nestled between his legs amidst that dark bush. His own cock twitched as Paul looked at him, grinning as if he knew what John was thinking. 

“Do you need me to take off your clothes too, darling?” he teased, and unprepared for the question, John nodded stupidly. Paul chuckled and leaned over John, fingers already at the hem of his t-shirt. “Arms up, Johnny.” 

John obeyed, raising his arms for Paul to slip the shirt over his head. His trousers, then his underpants came next, but he felt a pang of horror as he saw Paul inspect his skivvies. “Johnny,” Paul chastised, “what are these wet spots on your knickers? Did you have a little accident tonight?”

“No!” John insisted, though his bright red face suggested otherwise. “It— it was just a little bit, Paul!”

Paul smirked as he tossed the underwear before doing the same to his own. Seeing Paul’s prick, already half-hard, brought John to full-mast and he laid down on his thin mattress, staring deliriously up at Paul. “Are you gonna touch me?” he mumbled, suddenly shy as if Paul had never seen him naked before.

Paul sat beside him, running a single finger down John’s hairless chest. “How far have you gone before, Johnny?” he asked, his deep brown eyes big as he stared into John’s face. “Have you blown anyone before? Or let them screw that cute chubby arse of yours?”

John let out a squeak of a moan. “No,” he admitted in a whisper. “I’ve only… Touched…” 

Paul laughed, tweaking one of John’s nipples. “Are you embarrassed, Johnny? I’ve never seen you hesitant to talk up any of your conquests. Is it because you don’t know what you’re doing here?”

John nodded. His mouth was dry and his eyes felt glassy as he watched Paul lie down next to him before pulling their bodies close together, their pelvises grinding together. John moaned again, that high pathetic moan he didn’t even know could come from his mouth. “I’ll teach you, baby,” Paul whispered into his ear, and he took John’s already leaking prick into his hand.

John’s hips bucked under Paul’s ministrations, biting his lip to keep from making that babyish moan once again, but the little coos and whimpers of pleasure he made weren’t much less embarrassing. “Ooh, Johnny, you’re already so close, I can feel it,” Paul murmured, pressing his lips to John’s sweaty neck. “Come on, little baby, can you make a cummy for me?

John’s head shot back, and with a loud cry and body-wracking shudder, John climaxed all over Paul’s hand and both of their mid-sections, pumping his hips until he was finally spent. His orgasmic haze only lasted seconds before cruel reality came crashing down once more, and his eyes flew open to see Paul’s amused smirk. 

“You like that word, baby?” Paul teased, giving John’s prick a tiny squeeze. “I used it just for you, a cute little word for a cute little baby!”

John couldn’t reply; instead, he leaned forward and captured Paul’s lips with his own for a wet and passionate kiss. Paul kissed him back, and John could tell how much more skilled he was than himself, but he forced himself to push it to the back of his mind as he reached down between them, taking Paul’s cock into his own hand. Paul wasn’t massive, but his member was bigger than John’s, and he was the only one of the group to have been circumcised. John ran his thumb over the glistening slit at the tip of Paul’s cock, and smiled proudly when Paul groaned.

“Do you know how to do this, Johnny?” Paul asked, his voice gruff with arousal. He lay back on the bed, spreading his legs to allow John better access. “Have you ever played with a real man’s cock before?”

“I know how to do it!” John insisted and Paul broke into a wide smile before John began to stroke him in earnest. Paul’s head fell back onto the pillow with a loud moan, and John felt a hot bloom of pride in his gut. 

“That’s a good boy,” Paul muttered, staring into John’s face with half-lidded eyes. “That’s it, up and down, up and down… Do it a little faster now, _fuck_ , yes, that’s it, baby!” 

John stroked faster, working up to a frenzied pace that made Paul moan and writhe on the bed, and with a very special wrist flick he had perfected on himself, Paul grabbed the back of John’s head and with an animalistic growl, pulled him into a desperate kiss, John trying not to get distracted this close to the goal.

“Come on, baby,” Paul rasped against his lips. “Make Daddy cum.” With one final stroke, Paul came with a loud shout, his own jism adding to the mess they had already made of themselves. He was even more handsome after orgasm, his face rosy and furry chest heaving, but John couldn’t focus on that.

“You’re not my daddy,” he said in a high, trembling voice. “Don’t say that, Paul!”

“What?” Paul grunted, seemingly out-of-it. “What are you… Oh. Did I say that?”

“You did.” John pulled himself away, out of Paul’s warm comfort, exactly where he never wanted to be. “You… I… That’s not what I want, Paul!”

Paul groaned slightly as he pulled himself out of bed, padding over naked to the table to grab some of the baby wipes, taking one to clean himself off before returning to the bed. “Lay down,” he instructed, acting like he hadn’t heard what John said. 

“No!” John whined. “I’m not a baby and you’re _not_ my daddy! It’s sick!”

“Oh?” Paul raised an eyebrow. “But it’s _not_ sick for me to wank you off in nappies every night? Only if you call me Daddy, that’s when it’s wrong?” 

John whined again, wordlessly, and suddenly he felt like sobbing. Would Paul leave him over this? Against his own volition, he thought back to the last time he saw his own father, just a little child watching his daddy leave for good. It wasn’t until Paul sat back down beside him, wiping his tears away and whispering soft nothings into John’s ear that he realized he was weeping. “Don’t leave me,” he begged, hiccupping as he cried into Paul’s chest. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Paul soothed. “Trust me, Johnny. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you.” He raised John’s chin and kissed his wet, salty lips. “Will you trust me, love?”

John nodded, unable to speak anymore, but he did trust Paul. Maybe he would live to regret it, but he trusted Paul more than anyone. After Paul pinned John into his thick nappy, he didn’t return to his own bed, but stayed with John on his tiny cot until John finally fell asleep, feeling small and safe inside Paul’s arms.

The next time John opened his eyes, Paul was sitting upright beside him, gently stroking his hair, and John cooed softly in pleasure. This joy was short-lived though as he shifted in bed and immediately felt the cool dampness on his bare legs that spread out beneath his lower half. He gasped, blood turning cold as he realized how much he had leaked during the night. 

“It’s all right,” Paul said, placing a comforting hand on John’s chest. “You had a lot to drink last night, I should have been more mindful of that. But hey!” His small, almost-patronizing smile became a wide grin. “We got paid last night, so why don’t the two of us go get some lunch together before we go to the nappy shop and get you those plastic pants?”

John managed a tiny smile even though the thought of going to that shop filled him with dread. Only little babies needed plastic pants, not burgeoning rock stars! Not that he looked very much like a rock star now as Paul unpinned his saturated, yellow-stained nappy. There was no playtime like before; Paul changed him quickly and efficiently, but didn’t put him in a fresh nappy once he was done. Instead, he handed John a pair of y-fronts, which John was grateful to accept.

“Go wash your nappy out and clean yourself up too,” Paul instructed with a kind smile. “Do you need me to help?”

John was horrified by the way his mind answered: _Yes!_ But out loud, he said, “I don’t need any help!” His tone was much harsher than he intended, and Paul’s kind smile disappeared.

“I see,” he said, mouth tense. “Well then, go on. I’m starving, I don’t want to wait much longer to get some food.” He flopped onto his bed, making the ancient springs groan with agony, and picked up the paperback book he’d been trying to read since they arrived in Hamburg. He purposely ignored John as he pulled on an undershirt, and gathered his personal bar of soap and wet nappy before scurrying down the hallway to the loo.

Since their only option for running water in this rundown cinema was in the public loo, all five boys each had a bar of soap and would clean their smelliest bits with wet paper towels and their soap and that would have to be enough. After a few days of this, all of them silently but unanimously decided that they would only do this every so often, whenever the stench got too overwhelming. John, surprisingly, smelled the freshest of any of them now, but that was due to Paul’s methodical cleaning of his private parts and the sweet scent of baby powder. He held his breath as he pulled open the door to the restroom, swearing he would be a better person if no one was there.

George and Stuart both stood at the row of sinks, wearing only their skivvies as Stu scrubbed soap over his torso and George shaved his face. They didn’t notice him at first, joshing around and lightly splashing water over each other. John stuck close to the door, his toes curling as he tried to make himself as small and as unobtrusive as possible. He couldn’t have expected it to last long. George caught his eye in the mirror and his amused expression morphed into a scowl, half-hidden behind his thick shaving cream beard.

“What are you doing here?” he asked John’s reflection, not bothering to turn around. “Don’t you know this room is off-limits to you?”

“I have to wash,” John mumbled, walking past the other two boys to the sink at the far side of the room. He tried to place the nappy in the basin as surreptitiously as he could, but Stuart burst out giggling.

“Christ, you really saturated that, didn’t you, baby Johnny?” he teased. “Now that would be a photo for Astrid, wouldn’t it? The world’s biggest baby in a piss-flooded nappy, that ought to make for an interesting photo series!”

“Shouldn’t you have your nappy on?” George asked, focusing on John’s y-fronts. “You might have another accident like you did yesterday.”

“Paul’s taking me out to lunch,” John said, allowing himself a slightly proud tone. Paul wasn’t taking _George_ out to lunch. The other boys kept talking at him, but John ignored them as he stripped off his undershirt and began to splash water underneath his arms, but the thought of what Stuart said made his heart pound. To imagine himself in a photoshoot dressed up like a gigantic baby, his wet nappy on full-display as Astrid cooed and shook a rattle to get his attention… Paul on the side, telling him what a good baby he is… 

“—makes me sick, you know that? Hey, I’m talking to you!”

“What?” John blinked and turned to look at George. Apparently Stu had finished washing and left while John had been wrapped up in his reverie, and now George stood before him alone and visibly angry. “What’d you say, George?”

“It makes me sick that Paul dotes on you the way he does,” George spat. “There’s nothing about you worthwhile! Before, you were a nasty bully and now you’re just a stupid baby. I’m not sorry I told Astrid and Klaus about you, everyone deserves to know that you’re just an overgrown child!”

“I’m not!” John cried, his voice shaking. Where had his sharp-tongued barbs gone? His quick wit that had saved his neck so many times before had deserted him, replaced by a pathetically quick welling of tears. “I didn’t try to make Paul like me, he just does!”

George seemed struck for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, smirking coldly before he turned to face the mirror, washing off the remains of his shaving cream. “You really think he likes you? Not that Paul just likes having someone who will do whatever he tells them to?”

John bit his lip, trying his best to behave himself, not to scream and attack George like he desperately wanted to. George turned the tap off and dried his face with a scratchy brown paper towel before slipping his undershirt back on. “Besides,” he said, reaching out to pinch John’s cheek, “don’t you think that Paul _deserves_ someone better than you?”

John tried to slap George’s hand away, but he was too slow, and George was already walking out of the room, laughing to himself. John threw his soap down in a fury and it bounced off the floor and against the wall, skittering off into the corner of the restroom. He knew George was jealous and that he was angry but… he didn’t know if George was lying. He felt sick as he scrubbed the stained nappy, frustrated and heartbroken in a way he didn’t recognize, scrubbing so hard that his fingers became rough and red.

He hurried back to the room where Paul still lay in his cot. “Hey,” he greeted, placing his book down on his chest. “Everything okay?”

“Just peaches,” John muttered as he hung his wet nappy on the clothesline. 

Paul didn’t push him, even though John could tell that he knew something was the matter. However, as he and Paul walked in silence to a nearby diner, it was almost easy to pretend that everything was normal. Or at least as normal as everything could be in these circumstances. They ordered coffee and sandwiches in their passable German, and as John scanned through the jukebox selection, Paul lit them both cigarettes.

“Oh! Ta, Paul,” John murmured, surprised at the offer. “There’s nothing but German shite on here…”

“Are you okay, Johnny?”

John shot him a quick glare out of the corner of his eyes, silently saying, _don’t bring this up here_. Audibly, he said, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He gave up on the jukebox and they returned to their booth, the one deep in the corner where the few other patrons and tired waitress wouldn’t be likely to hear.

Paul sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “Look, I know this has been a tumultuous time, but I don’t want you to fall into a funk or anything. Now answer me honestly. Are you okay?”

John stared deep into his coffee cup, fiddling with it but not drinking. “I’m not sure.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “I’ve been keeping these secrets for so long, now that you’ve all found out, it doesn’t seem quite real yet.”

Paul reached across the table and took John’s hand. John jolted at the touch, and ripped his hand from Paul’s. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he hissed.

“Please, a diner in the Reeperbahn has seen much more risqué business,” Paul retorted, visibly stung from the rejection but trying not to let it show. “I was only trying to comfort you.”

“I don’t _need_ comfort.” John could hear the nasty tone creeping into his voice, the one that always got him into trouble. “And it’s dandy for you to do this here, not in front of your little minions, isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do?”

“I didn’t force them to do anything they didn’t want to do,” Paul said, airy as a spring breeze. They had always been as yin and yang, and it was never more evident when they were fighting: John always got hotter and more belligerent, Paul got cooler and sickeningly sweet, his smile getting more and more punchable. “They were tired of being bossed around by a little tyrant, and I can’t say I disagree with them.”

“So you decided to humiliate me? Turn me into a laughingstock?”

Paul sighed and he was about to answer when the waitress appeared with their sandwiches. They thanked her and waited an awkwardly long time to resume their conversation after she left. “I just wanted…” Paul paused and took a bite of his sandwich. “I guess I wanted to teach you a lesson about how to treat others. If you hadn’t been such a prick to us all of these years, we wouldn’t have done that. We wouldn’t have laughed at you.”

“But it’s not fair, Paul!” John could hear himself whining but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I can’t help that I have this problem!”

“What problem is that, Johnny, wetting the bed or acting like a bastard?” Paul snapped. “From what I can tell, you haven’t tried very hard at stopping either one.”

“You don’t know what it was like growing up like this! For the longest time, Mimi refused to believe I wasn’t doing it for attention. She’d spank me for doing it until she realized it didn’t matter if she hit me or not. And Julia— she— she—”

“Hey, hey,” Paul said quietly, and took John’s trembling hand in his. This time, John didn’t shake him off. “It’s going to be all right. Why don’t you eat your sandwich, we’ll go run our errand, and we’ll rest before the set tonight?”

“Tell me about you and George,” John croaked, his throat dry. “Why won’t he let up on me?”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Did something happen in the loo?” he demanded. “You’ve been out-of-sorts ever since you came back.”

“He… He said…” John stared down at his sandwich as he mumbled, “He said you’re only doing things with me because I do what you say. And that you…” He choked back a sob, raising his head for a moment to see if anyone around them was watching or listening. “You deserve better than me.”

“Did he now,” Paul said, voice no louder than a piece of silk, and John shivered despite himself. “Johnny, I don’t want you to worry your little head about it, okay? George is going to have to answer to me later on tonight.”

“Tell me what you did with him,” John whined, though no part of him actually wanted to know. “Did you fuck him?”

For once, it was Paul’s turn to look vulnerable and he took a long sip of his coffee before answering. “No, we didn’t do that,” he said, not looking John directly in the eyes. “We tried to, but uhm… Well, George got scared.”

John giggled, surprised at the unexpected answer. “What? I don’t—”

“Look, I wouldn’t be telling you if George wasn’t being such a prick to you,” Paul said, deep brown eyes turning back on John. “But from where I’m sitting, he doesn’t have much room to call you a bully and then act like this. This was maybe a year ago, or ten months, or something like that. George said he wanted it, but when it came time, he just lost his nerve. We didn’t try again after that, but if I’m being honest, I thought he realized we were better off as friends like I did.”

“So… You do like me?” John blushed as he said this, as though this was the most vulnerable position he had ever been in with Paul. 

“I’ve always liked you, Johnny,” Paul whispered, stroking his palm with his fingertips. “I’m just glad to find out you like me too.”

“Even though I’m… I’m…” John couldn’t find it within him to say the words: a bedwetter. A nappy-wearer. A _baby_.

“Especially so,” Paul finished, squeezing his hand. John’s heart swelled and he took a bite of his sandwich. Even though it tasted like Styrofoam, it was the best sandwich he had ever eaten.

His buoyant mood lasted until they reached the destination of their outing. The medical supply shop looked completely innocuous and unassuming, but John’s heart pounded so hard in his chest, he felt like he may vomit. Paul held his elbow tightly as they entered the store, making sure John couldn’t bolt.

“There’s the woman who helped us before,” Paul said, and waved to a dark-haired woman across the shop. “Hannah!”

As the woman turned to face them, John’s pounding heart seemed to stop beating altogether. The woman was the spitting image of his deceased mother. Maybe the nose was a little different, and the eyes weren’t the right shape, and her hair was the wrong color, but that was Julia’s mouth, and he gaped as the woman came over to them.

“Oh, hello, Paul from Liverpool!” Her accent was jarring to John, and he felt like perhaps he had stepped into an alternate dimension, had fallen into a rabbit hole somewhere along the route to Hamburg. 

“Hannah, this is the friend I was here about,” Paul explained and John’s face reddened. There were only three other people in the store, a husband and wife whispering in hushed tones and a single man trying to keep as much to himself as possible. Though Paul spoke quietly, he couldn’t help but feel that all of them were listening. “Turns out we do need the plastic pants, I didn’t realize what a heavy wetter he is.”

Hannah turned her eyes on John, really focusing on him for the first time, and John felt as small as a child under her gaze. “You’re the boy who can’t hold his bladder through the night?” she said coldly. “What a pity. You’re a good-looking boy, but I can’t think any girl would put up with that. I have a son about the same age as you— if he wet the bed like a baby, I would be so disgusted.”

John was speechless. The things his friends had said hurt, but this familiar stranger cut him to the bone without so much as lifting a finger. His cheeks were burning, his eyes filling with tears, he could feel the other customers looking at them—

“Who do you think you are?!” Paul demanded. His voice was rising to a yell as he continued, but that’s all John stayed to hear. He could feel the other people looking at him, and the store had started to scream around him, so he ran out the door, far away from the mother that wanted nothing to do with him. He ended up maybe a hundred yards away, his chest heaving from the effort. He wanted to keep running, run until he reached the ocean and just keep running until he was on the other side the world. But… he thought of Paul. The way Paul smiled at him, even after he was horrible. The way he had held him and touched him… John sat down on a nearby bench, hugging his knees and blinking desperately to keep the tears at bay.

“Johnny!” Paul came running up to him, a small bag in hand. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry, she was so much nicer before! I gave that bitch a piece of my mind though. Oh Johnny, fuck, are you all right?”

“You didn’t think to mention she looked exactly like my fucking mum?!” John cried.

Paul looked taken aback. “I… didn’t think she did?”

“Christ, Paul, she’s the spitting image of her! And to hear— hear her…” The floodgates broke and John sobbed as tears flowed down his cheeks. Paul didn’t waste a second, and grabbed John to him, embracing him as tightly as he could.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” he whispered into John’s ear, giving him a tiny kiss. 

“You don’t understand,” John blubbered, sobbing his words out. “Julia… She couldn’t deal with the b-bedwetting. It’s one of… one of the reasons I ended up with Mimi. It actually stopped for a while, when I was about twelve, and when Mimi told her, Julia said I could come stay with her. But… But it happened, while I was there… and…” 

John choked, laying his head on Paul’s leather-clad shoulder and his friend rubbed his back comfortingly. “It’s all right, Johnny, you can tell me,” he whispered.

“She got so angry at me, Paul,” John whispered back. “She was screaming at me, even though I told her I couldn’t help it. She sent me back to Mimi’s and I never got to sleep over there again. She— she told me that…” He interrupted himself with a loud, trembling sob. “That’s what made my daddy leave, because I couldn’t stop wetting the bed. She never loved me again after that.”

“Oh darling, of course she loved you!” Paul said automatically. “Of course she did, she was your mum!”

“Your mum loved you,” John murmured, sniffling as his tears began to subside. “And your dad did too. Not everyone is so lucky, you know?”

Paul was silent as he continued to hold John close to him. “I’m beginning to know, love. What about Mimi? Didn’t she ever comfort you?”

“She tried her best,” John said, thinking of all the kettles of tea his aunt had put on for him and all the excuses she had provided for him not to spend the night anywhere but his own bed. “It just… It wasn’t enough.”

They sat on the bench that way for some while until John had finally run out of tears, Paul never once mentioning how the passersby stared at the two grown men clutching at each other, one sobbing while the other stroked his hair and soothed him. “I’m here, Johnny,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They walked back to the Bambi together slowly, giving John’s face to return to normal after his crying session, but John could feel his blush creep up his neck as soon as they walked in. He dragged his feet, but Paul was steadfast as he took John’s hand in his and led him into the main room. George and Pete sat at the table, listening to the radio and playing cards with Paul’s nudie deck, cigarette smoke heavy in the air above them.

“Where’s Stuart?” Paul asked, waving the foul air away from his nose.

“With Astrid, where else?” Pete replied. “Got any fours?”

“Go fish,” George said, not even looking at the hand he held. “Where were you two?”

“We went to the nappy shop,” Paul answered, clearing a space on the bed that was the impromptu changing station. “We had to get Johnny some plastic pants, his nappy’s been leaking during the night.” 

John whined in humiliation as Pete chuckled and George cackled, but Paul acted like everything was completely normal, like this was something that happened to most people. “Come on, darling, hop on!” he said, patting the bed.

“Yeah, come on, baby,” George taunted, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Let Daddy put that nappy on you before you have a little accident!”

Paul glared at George. “We’ll have no more of _that_ , George. We still need to have our little talk about what you did last night.” He stood from the bed, cupping John’s face gently before saying, “Let me help you, little love.” John stood completely still, apart from his shaking knees and trembling breath, as Paul helped him take off his shoes, socks, and his jeans, leaving him naked from the waist down as he was laid on the bed. 

“I don’t regret it,” George declared, sauntering over to Paul and the vulnerable John. “We can’t reasonably be expected to keep this a secret, just look at him! It’s only a matter of time before he exposes himself.”

Paul focused on his task at hand, but his forehead creased in displeasure. “It’s one thing if that _does_ happen, it’s quite another to purposefully humiliate Johnny! What about that party at New Year’s where you threw your guts up all over the host’s toilet? From what I remember, Johnny didn’t go around telling everyone you did that.” He pinned the last safety pin into John’s nappy and patted the front. “There you go, lovey.”

“He teased me mercilessly,” George whined. “Besides, that was one time versus however many times John’s proved that he’s just a fucking baby! He pisses himself constantly, it’s disgusting!”

John whimpered, his eyes filling with tears as his mind flashbacked to the nappy store, the woman telling him he was disgusting. Paul glanced at John, his eyes sad like someone who desperately wanted to help but could do nothing, but then stood from the bed and squared up with George, staring him down. Paul only had less than a year on the guitarist, but he was several inches taller and a couple dozen pounds heavier, and John could see George visibly shrink into himself.

“Johnny’s had a rough day, George,” Paul said, keeping his voice calm, even though his body language was radiating dominant energy. “None of us play our best like that. But if you want to keep complaining, I think we need to sit down for a little chat, hm?”

John felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Paul had promised to pay George back for the way he had treated him, but how? The two of them sat at the table in the main room, George glaring at Paul while Pete lit a cigarette and acted like this was just a normal night in the life of their band now. John stayed on the bed, though he sat up for a better view.

“George, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings,” Paul started, lighting his own cigarette. “I know we— I mean, now I know that I should have talked to you after what happened between us, instead of assuming everything was okay. I didn’t mean to cause any drama between us, that wasn’t my intention. But I think you know how I feel about Johnny, and that isn’t going to change. If you continue to bully him, I’m going to have to punish you the way you were so eager for me to punish Johnny.”

George’s jaw nearly dropped to the table. “Are you serious?” he demanded. “After everything he’s said, everything he’s done? First he was a terror, now he’s a bloody embarrassment!”

“George, this is your last warning.” Paul’s voice was getting lower and darker by the second. “Apologize to Johnny.”

George hesitated, but then he smirked. “Make me.”

Paul looked at Pete, then nodded. Pete responded in kind, and before George could react, he leapt to his feet and locked his arms around George’s chest, keeping him in place even as George struggled. “What the fuck, let me go!” George howled, thrashing in his seat.

John’s heart pounded as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. Pete hoisted George up, and with Paul’s assistance, they managed to get George over Paul’s lap, trapped as his pale, skinny arse was exposed. Was it only three nights ago John had been trapped in this exact same position? It felt like another lifetime.

“Naughty boy!” Paul grunted as he brought his hand down hard on George’s backside. George wailed in pain, writhing as the blows continued. “If you continue to treat Johnny like you have been, _this_ is what you can look forward to!”

“Let me go!” George cried. John couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the tears in George’s voice. “Stop, please, I’ll be nice!”

“You’ll do twenty spanks,” Paul said soothingly, brushing George’s damp and sweaty hair out of his eyes. “The baby is able to do twenty spanks, are you saying you can’t do as many as him?”

George moaned and John was frozen in place as Paul proceeded to make George’s bottom red and bruised, enthralled by how strong and possessive Paul could really be. His stiff cock ached as he watched, and no other thoughts or sensations could enter his mind. Not until he felt the hot liquid pooling in the front of his nappy did he even realize that he had to piss. 

He gasped, his concentration immediately broken at the sensation. He looked down at himself— it was already visible, the nappy sagging low between his thighs. How could he not even realize what he was doing?! With barely any more warning than his accident, John began to sob, fat round teardrops streaming down his face as he cried loudly and babyishly.

Paul released George from his grasp who immediately launched himself off Paul’s lap and to the other side of the room, pulling up his trousers and glowering. “Oh sweetheart, did you have an accident?” Paul asked quietly, kissing John’s wet cheeks.

“I don’t know what happened,” John blubbered. “I didn’t— I didn’t know that I…”

“It’s all right,” Paul said, pressing a finger to his lips. “You went in your nappy, that’s what you’re supposed to do!”

“Hey!” The two broke apart at the sound of George’s yelp, looking over at their bandmates. Pete had George’s skinny wrist in his grasp, looking somewhat sheepish as George tried in vain to break away.

“Sorry, are you done with him, Paul?” he asked, his own face reddening just a little. “I was counting and that wasn’t twenty spanks.”

Paul smiled patiently, and nodded. “Have you learned your lesson, Georgie?”

George ripped his arm free of Pete’s grip, grimacing but nodding in affirmation. 

“Let me hear it!” Paul said, much too cheerfully. “What was the lesson?”

“Don’t bully Johnny,” George muttered, staring at his feet. 

“There you go,” Paul said, a laugh in his voice. “Don’t let me catch you doing it again, or I’ll think up an even worse punishment. We’ve still got several months here, you know!”

John whined at the reminder; it terrified him to think of the coming weeks if it took him only days to regress this quickly. The sound caused Paul to turn his attention back to John, cooing and clucking as gently as a mother hen as he urged John to lie back down on the bed.

“Don’t change me here,” he begged through his tears, his voice thin and shaky. “Please, Paulie, I don’t want them to see me like this!”

“Johnny darling,” Paul whispered, stroking his hot wet cheek, “they’ve already seen you get changed into your nappy, what’s so bad about them seeing you changed out of it? Because you went pee-pee? That’s okay, darling, that’s what your nappy is here for!”

He knew Paul was trying his best to comfort him, but it was no use. He was sobbing once again, the tears rolling down the sides of his face and onto the pillow underneath his head, even as Paul kissed and shushed him. He reached past John into the bag that carried the new plastic pants but pulled out the most adorable small teddy bear John had ever seen in his life. No more than half a foot tall, the fur fluffy and white, the bear had a tiny embroidered smile on its friendly face and John’s sobs immediately subsided once he laid eyes on it.

“I thought you might like this,” Paul said, tucking the teddy into John’s arms. “I saw it at the nappy shop and I figured it was just compensation for how that woman treated you. Do you like it though?”

“I love it,” John whispered, hugging the toy tightly to his chest. “Thank you, Paulie, I love it.”

Paul’s face broke into a wide grin as he leaned down and kissed John’s forehead. “Good! I’m glad I got the best one! Will you let me change your nappy now, lovey?”

John nodded hesitantly, though he was aware how intently both Pete and George watched from across the room. Paul unpinned the nappy and unfolded it, exposing John’s wet privates to the cool air of the concrete room, still aroused. The boy whined a little, wriggling slightly on top of his yellow stained nappy, so Paul shushed him. “Hush now, little love,” he whispered. “Just play with your teddy and this will be over in a few minutes.”

“I don’t think someone minds all this half as much as he says he does,” Pete chuckled as he crossed the room to get a better look. He reached down to ruffle Johnny’s hair, but John closed his eyes and hid his face behind the teddy bear, too embarrassed to meet Pete’s eyes. Though George still stood on the opposite side of the room, he could feel the animosity radiating off of him.

Paul laughed a little, wiping Johnny’s most secretive areas seemingly without care that he was exposing him to the entire room. “That’s what I said to him, Pete! He swears up and down that he hates his nappies but well…”

“I do hate them!” John whined, not bothering to bring his face out from behind his toy. 

“Of course you do, love,” Pete said patronizingly. “We can all see how much you hate them.”

Paul lifted John’s legs with ease and slid a clean nappy underneath him, pinning him quickly and patting the front when he was done, just like he had so shortly before. “There we go, Johnny!” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “You were such a good boy, being so obedient!”

John finally peeked out from behind the teddy, looking up at Paul cautiously, as if the praise were a trap. Paul stroked his cheek, then sat up, gently pulling Johnny over to sit in his lap. John gasped and squirmed in the position, his cheeks flaring red and his forgotten erection suddenly persistent once again. 

“Johnny deserves a nice reward for being so good,” Paul murmured, and he slipped his hand between John’s thighs, rubbing the front of his thick cotton nappy vigorously. 

John moaned and buried his face in Paul’s neck, whispering, “Please, not in front of them, please, Paulie…”

Paul responded by jiggling his knee underneath John’s bottom, making John squeal in pleasure and rut against Paul’s hand, much to the amusement of everyone else in the room. “Boys, if you ever end up having to change John’s nappy,” Paul said, never pausing in his actions, “if he’s a good boy, he deserves a reward for it. And a little cummy makes John behave so nicely!”

John couldn’t last and climaxed, rocking his diapered crotch into Paul’s hand as he rode out his orgasm, whimpering and moaning into the crook of his lover’s neck. He felt like a ragdoll, boneless, as Paul scooped him up in his arms, lifting him as if he weighed nothing.

“Why don’t I get a reward?” George asked sullenly, a pout on his handsome face.

“Aw, Georgie,” Paul said, cocking his head sympathetically. “You can have a reward if you get your nappy changed too, how about that?”

George’s face paled, and he shook his head rapidly. “N-no, no, I’m good on that.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Paul teased, and George’s pallor was immediately replaced with a raging blush. “I’m going to put Johnny down for a nap, I’ll be back in a little while.”

Paul carried John to the other room, the older boy’s legs wrapped around his waist and his arms wrapped around his shoulders, the new teddy bear squished between them. When Paul finally sat John down on his own bed, his eyes were dark with arousal as he looked down on him. “You were such a good boy in there,” he murmured, running a thumb over John’s lips. “You don’t know how much it affected me knowing you had an accident in your nappy like a little baby.”

John gasped and blushed in humiliation, but he held Paul’s gaze. Paul grinned, and with his right hand still holding John’s chin, his left unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, stroking his cock to full stiffness. “Are you ready to suck me off?” he asked, his voice low and gruff, and without even thinking, John nodded eagerly.

“Such a good boy,” Paul whispered. He took the back of John’s head, threading his fingers through the thick locks, and John opened his mouth as wide as he could to accept Paul’s prick inside. It was obvious he hadn’t done this before, his mouth too slack and his tongue sloppy, drool spilling down Paul’s shaft and John’s chin, but when John looked up at him, eyes wide and hopeful, Paul came with a shout.

John was shocked at the sudden liquid in his mouth, and reflexively swallowed it, wiping his mouth as he pulled away from Paul. “Did you swallow it, baby?” Paul murmured, collapsing on the bed next to John, pulling him close and wiping the spots on the sides of John’s mouth that he missed. “What a good boy, I didn’t even tell him to do that!”

John squirmed at the compliment, snuggling deep into Paul’s arms as they lay down together, the teddy bear caught between them once again. As he drifted to sleep, the memories of the last few hours seemed just like a bad dream, nebulous and without defined shape, and the only thing that was for certain was Paul. Only Paul could love him this way.

***

“All right, boys, here we are!” Klaus announced as he drove into the parking lot of the abandoned train yard. “Don’t be scared, all the ghosts were scared off during the war.”

“Yeah, but what about the knife-wielding maniacs?” John muttered, staring out the window at the decaying metal beasts. 

“Just ignore him,” Paul said, squeezing Johnny’s knee as he leaned over into the front seat, poking his head in between Klaus and Pete. “Where did Astrid—”

Before Paul could finish his question, Astrid’s car came roaring into view. When it parked next to Klaus, Stuart and George immediately popped out, cavorting like a couple of jesters on uppers. “Well, at least someone’s excited,” Klaus laughed, and he exited the car too, as did Pete and Astrid, leaving only John and Paul left in either vehicle.

“I don’t want to be here,” John whispered, unable to look Paul in the eye. “They—they know and they’re going to laugh at me—”

“Hey, hey,” Paul said gently. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. If any of them start making fun of you, we’re out of here.”

“Promise?” John whimpered, biting his bottom lip. He didn’t admit it to Paul because he knew it was silly, but this place frightened him, he half-expected to see cartoonishly scary monster around every corner. 

Somehow, it seemed like Paul could tell that John was frightened, so he leaned forward and captured John’s lips in a tender kiss. John’s eyes fluttered shut and he kissed back, unconcerned that someone could see them. Too quickly, Paul pulled back, stroking John’s face sweetly. “I promise, little love. Now let’s _mach schau_ , okay?”

Unfortunately, there was no _schau_ to _mach_ , at least not yet. It would take considerable time for Astrid to set up her equipment, so the boys loitered, George and Pete throwing rocks at the old train cars, Paul and Klaus chatting about the art college the two Germans attended, and Stuart helping Astrid with setting up. John sat by himself quietly, unwittingly reliving the memories of yesterday and last night.

After his experiences that afternoon, even John’s nap hadn’t done much to quell the anxiety and shame he felt over what had happened. He nearly begged Paul to let him stay home that night, but knew if he did, then he may never get back on stage again. He forced himself on, swaying under the bright lights and his hands shook as he tried to play the right chords on his guitar. He could see George glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, but the harder he tried to play on point, he more mistakes he made. Before the last third of their set, Paul gently took John to the side and suggested he sit out this last part. Everyone could tell he was upset, he said, and no good playing was going to come from it. John had to agree and spent the rest of the show in the back, listening to the crowds go wild for the band… _His_ band.

“Come on, Johnny, we’re ready now!” Paul called, waving him over. John obeyed, shuffling over to the rest of the group, sticking close to Paul’s side.

“Okay, Johnny should go in the middle because he is the leader, yes?” Astrid asked, smiling kindly at John who felt a small flame of pride he hadn’t felt in days. 

“Mm, we don’t really have a leader, love,” Paul said, flashing a smile at the blonde. “Perhaps Johnny and I should both go in the middle?” Spoken like a true leader.

Astrid lined the boys up and posed them how she wanted, posing with their guitars and Pete’s drumsticks, three of them sitting on an old train car while the other two stood aloof in front of it. The boys remained quiet as Astrid worked, her and Klaus conversing sparsely in German. The clock hands kept ticking, and John began to feel a growing pressure in his bladder. He couldn’t possibly leave now though. Astrid was intensely focused, and it had taken at least a dozen different poses for her to find one that she considered suitable; if he got up now, it probably would take another twenty minutes to find it again. He could hold it, he wasn’t a child with a hair-trigger bladder! Surely they would take a break shortly.

Time creeped by at an agonizing pace, and John was squirming in his spot, sweat forming around his hairline from the effort of restraining himself. It was like ever since he had started wearing nappies, he had effectively lost whatever control he used to have. His abdomen felt bloated and sensitive to the touch, and he shuddered violently as he suppressed another sharp stab of pain from his aching bladder. That got Paul’s attention, and he put his hand on John’s knee, a concerned expression on his face. “You okay?” he asked softly.

As he attempted to turn towards Paul, the heel of John’s boot became caught on the rail underneath the train car and he fell, landing face first into the dirt below. The pain distracted him momentarily, but it was quickly obvious to everyone present that John was wetting himself, his dark jeans growing even darker as a large wet stain covered the front. 

Paul leapt into action, tossing his guitar to the side as he crouched next to John on the ground. “Darling, are you all right?” he asked, brushing the dirt off him. 

John stared at him, wondering how he could possibly answer that question, and before he knew it, he was sobbing, throwing his arms around Paul’s neck and letting out huge, heaving sobs. How could he have let himself do this?! How could he be so pathetic?! 

Astrid rushed over, camera still clutched in her hands. “Oh John, I am so sorry!” she cried, dropping to her knees and hugging the crying boy as Paul gently pulled himself from John’s grasp. “I wouldn’t have made you sit up there if I thought you could be hurt! Oh dear, don’t cry, Johnny!”

“Astrid, forget it,” Stuart said, jumping off the train car and heading over to them as well. “He’s just a baby, and a crybaby at that. Come on, get up, you’ll get piss all over your outfit.”

Astrid said something cross in German, then turned back to Paul. “You can clean him up over there,” she said, gesturing to an area hidden from view from where they were. “Let me check in the car, I usually have a towel for emergencies.”

“Bless you,” Paul said, patting her hand while he glared at Stuart. “Come on, Johnny.” He helped John off the ground, his legs shaking as he continued crying, even after they were out of view from everyone’s judgmental eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blubbered, leaning against the sleeping train. “I thought I could hold it, I didn’t want to interrupt everything…”

“Shh, love, it’s all right,” Paul whispered, wiping John’s tears away. “You should have just told me, no one would have been angry if you needed to take a potty break.”

Instead of making him feel better, John only cried harder. “I’m such a stupid baby!” he sobbed. “Why can’t I control myself like a big boy?”

Paul didn’t answer, he simply held John close to him, whispering sweet words into John’s ear as John cried himself out. Astrid must have slipped the towel to him at some point, because once John had calmed down somewhat, Paul crouched down and patted John’s legs dry as best he could, but John’s skin still crawled with the sticky feeling and humiliation. 

“Let’s go home, okay?” Paul said once he was finished. “I don’t think Astrid will get anymore good photos of us today.”

John nodded silently, drained of any fight he may have had as Paul led him by the hand back to the group. “Klaus, will you drive us back to the Bambi?” Paul asked. “It’s time we got John home.”

“Aww, the little baby needs to go home and get his nappy on!” Stuart sneered. “What did I tell you all, he can’t even hold his piss for a couple of hours! Johnny here is the most _pathetic_ —”

Whatever Stuart was going to say, John would never know because mid-sentence, Paul swung his fist into the middle of Stuart’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. John’s mouth dropped open as Paul lunged on top of the smaller boy, delivering two more solid blows against Stuart’s face. “Don’t you _ever_ talk about him like that again!” he snarled. “That goes for any of you!”

Even after Paul stood, Stuart stayed on the ground, glaring daggers at Paul even as he bent his head to spit some blood onto the dirt. Everyone stared at Paul, including John, but he seemed to pay them no mind as he took John’s hand in his and started walking towards Klaus’ car. The dazed German took a moment to catch up with them, but he climbed into the driver’s seat and took them away, leaving the other band members and Astrid as tiny figures in the rearview mirror. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” John mumbled, running his fingers over Paul’s scraped knuckles. “Stu’s just gonna hate me even more now.”

“Let him try,” Paul said, taking John’s hand and threading their fingers together. “If anyone of them tries to make you cry, I’ll do it again.”

Ignoring the fact that Klaus was still very much in the driver’s seat, John crawled into Paul’s lap, desperate for the warm comfort his lover gave him. “Do you love me?” he whispered into Paul’s ear, unable to look him in the eye in case the answer was “no.”

“I love you with all my heart, Johnny,” Paul whispered back, and for once, John didn’t have any fears that Paul was lying to tell him what he wanted to hear.

Soon enough, they were back at the Bambi Kino. Paul opened the door and ushered John outside, joining him immediately afterward. “Darling, why don’t you go on inside?” he said. “I’m just going to have a quick word with Klaus, okay?”

John nodded, not really listening, but he obeyed anyway, wandering inside as Paul bent down next to the driver’s window. As soon as he was back in their room, he ripped off his wet jeans and underpants, hurling them into the corner. He paused, considering whether or not he should put on a fresh pair, but he knew Paul would be there momentarily to put him back into a nappy. How violently he had protested them before, but now it seemed impossible to deny that he needed nappies, just like any little baby. He lay down on his cot, naked from the waist down and feeling the need to cry all over again.

Paul appeared only a few moments later, rushing through the door as if he thought he would find John doing something drastic, only to finish by walking slowly over to John’s bed and sitting beside him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

John nodded, even though he didn’t feel very okay, not yet. Paul smiled at him, which helped a little. “I’m really proud of you, you know that? I know you didn’t want to be there but you behaved yourself.”

“But I… But I had an accident,” John whimpered.

“Now now, I know you couldn’t help that.” 

He knew that Paul meant that as comforting but John winced at that statement. He couldn’t help it, and that was a problem. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered. “I just… I couldn’t hold it.”

“That’s been happening more and more, Johnny,” Paul said, his brow furrowing in concern. “Look, I don’t want you to think of a punishment but… If it keeps happening, I’m going to have to insist you wear nappies full-time.”

To John’s absolute horror, he wasn’t as appalled by the notion as he thought he would be. He loved the way Paul cared for him, the way he’s doted on John ever since he made him start wearing nappies in the first place… And the way the nappies felt around him… No, he didn’t hate his nappies, just like Paul and Pete said. The realization was sickening, and his lower lip trembled as he cried out, “You can’t do that to me! Everyone will know what I’m wearing!”

“Darling, what’s more embarrassing?” Paul asked gently. “Someone to find out you wear nappies or for everyone to see you have an accident in your trousers?”

John didn’t answer the question. Instead, he asked, “Do you really love me?”

“Of course I do,” Paul answered automatically. “Johnny, I’ve always loved you.”

“Then fuck me,” John said, sounding much more sure of himself than he was. “I want you to.”

Paul looked surprised, but only for a moment. “Oh, is that what you want now, baby boy?” he teased, running his hand down John’s naked thigh. “I’m not so sure you’re ready for that.”

“I am!” John insisted, his cock stirring at Paul’s touch. “Please, Paulie, they won’t be home for hours, and I— I want it so much, I—”

“Settle down, lovey,” Paul laughed. “How about we compromise, hm? Flip over onto your tummy for me.”

John obeyed eagerly, but Paul rose from the bed, crossing the room to where his suitcase sat. “Paul!” John whined, rocking his hips against the mattress.

“Patience, Johnny!” He extracted a small jar from the suitcase and returned to the bed, positioning himself behind John. “I don’t want to hurt you, Johnny, we need some lubrication to make your little bottom glide nice and smooth for me.”

John moaned, embarrassed both by Paul’s words and his reaction to them. He could hear the jar open and Paul smearing the gel inside over his fingers, then felt those strong, greasy fingers spread his cheeks wide open, exposing his small brown hole. “There we go,” Paul breathed, and even though John couldn’t see him, he knew he was aroused, which only made John even more excited and he rocked his hips against the mattress again. 

“Stop that now, Johnny,” Paul ordered. “Get those hips up for me and don’t let me see them on the mattress again unless I let you.”

John choked back a sob, but he raised himself to his knees and forearms, letting his head fall forward as Paul circled the outside of his arsehole. “Paul, please, don’t tease me!” he begged. 

“I wouldn’t, baby,” Paul answered soothingly, and John felt the tip of his index finger wiggle inside of him. John rocked back, groaning at the sensation. “How does that feel, does it hurt?”

“N-no, doesn’t hurt,” John panted. “Feels good…”

“That’s my boy,” Paul said with a large grin, and he added a second finger. John moaned loudly into his pillow; no one had ever touched him like this before and it felt so alien, yet so completely right. 

Paul let John adjust to the girth of his fingers before slowly beginning to move them, nearly pulling them out before thrusting them back in. Just as John thought he was getting used to the sensation, Paul crooked his fingers inside him and he saw stars. 

“That good, baby boy?” Paul chuckled but John could barely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears. “I think you like having your little bummy played with.”

“Paul, fuck me!” he pleaded, attempting to rock back onto Paul’s fingers but Paul held his hips in place with his free hand.

“I will if you can do one thing for me,” Paul whispered into his ear, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. “Call me Daddy.”

John moaned again, but this time, both in arousal and anxiety. “I can’t,” he whimpered. “I can’t do that, not yet…”

“When you call me Daddy, I’ll fuck you, baby,” Paul said, removing his fingers and making John whine in the process. “Don’t whine, Johnny, I’m not going to leave you high and dry. Just stay right there…” 

John didn’t move a muscle, even as he heard Paul undress behind him. His heart pounded as he heard the jar open once again, and suddenly Paul’s hand was spreading him apart. “Now, I want you to behave yourself and not get greedy,” Paul instructed, his voice gruff with desire. “Remember, do _not_ start rubbing yourself off!”

John started to nod, but stopped the instant he felt something pressing into him. He let out a high-pitched moan when he realized it wasn’t Paul’s fingers, but the head of his cock. Instead of going in all the way, however, Paul stopped once the head was past John’s perimeter. 

“Paul, Paul, more, please!” John begged, his voice trembling. His cock was leaking like a bust faucet, pre-cum dripping onto the mattress underneath. It was like every thought in his brain had been reprogrammed to only think of Paul and how he felt inside him.

“This is it, Johnny,” Paul rasped, rocking the boy’s hips slowly as not to give him any more than what Paul had decided. “Once you can call me Daddy, you’ll get the whole thing. For now, you just get a little baby fuck. ‘Cause that’s what you are, aren’t you? Just a little baby?”

If John’s brain had been working properly, if all thoughts weren’t preoccupied by Paul, he would have remembered Paul’s explicit instruction, but he simply couldn’t help himself. His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the thin mattress, humping against it desperately.

“Johnny!” Paul snapped, and suddenly, his girth was gone from John. John sobbed in disappointment, but squealed when Paul’s flat palm came down hard on his exposed bum. “I told you no rubbing off, didn’t I, little baby!”

“I couldn’t help it!” John wailed, tears now streaming down his face. “Please Paulie, let me cummy!”

Paul’s arms wrapped around John’s waist, and he sat the boy in his lap, still facing away from him. John could feel Paul’s cock poking persistently against him, and he moaned, rubbing against it wantonly. “I know you want it, darling,” he whispered into John’s ear. “Prove to me what a little baby you are, and Daddy will let you cummy.” A soft kiss before he whispered, “Suck your thumb for me.”

“I don’t suck my thumb!” John gasped, falling back on lies to hide the shameful fact that he thought only his family knew.

“Come on, Johnny,” Paul growled. “Don’t play stupid with me, I’ve seen you do it, in your sleep. Now come on… Suck your thumb and I’ll make you cummy.” 

John opened his mouth to protest again, but the words were ripped out his throat when he felt Paul spreading his crack open once again, but this time, there were no fingers, just Paul rubbing his stiff fat prick against him. He squealed, rocking back against Paul—the feeling was so delicious, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t _nearly_ enough to make him cum. He had to… So John opened his mouth and shoved his thumb in, suckling desperately as Paul rubbed against him.

“There we go!” Paul crooned, rocking faster. “There’s my good little baby, sucking his thumb for Daddy!” Finally, _finally_ , he took John’s cock into his hand and with only a few firm strokes, John orgasmed explosively, moaning obscenely around his thumb as Paul milked him until his hips finally stopped jerking.

“What a good baby, what a good little obedient baby,” Paul chanted as he approached his own orgasm, rutting roughly against John’s arse, until he finally came with a shout, spilling his seed all over John’s backside.

Paul fell back against the wall, John still sitting between his legs and curling into his chest. He could feel Paul’s seed on him, still warm between his cheeks and leaking down the curves of his arse onto the mattress below, but he didn’t care. He inhaled deeply, basking in Paul’s musky scent as his breathing returned to normal. Paul’s heart had been beating rapidly behind his hairy chest, and John listened to it slow with his ear pressed against Paul. They didn’t speak for a long time.

Eventually, Paul groaned and forced himself from the bed, waking John from a light doze. He shuffled over to grab John’s nappy supplies, and John positioned himself on the bed, unembarrassed to prepare for what was coming. 

Paul smiled to see it, returning to the bed and rubbing John’s tummy softly. “What a good boy!” he praised, taking a baby wipe and cleaning his jism from John’s backside. “He’s all ready for his nappy, isn’t he?”

John giggled but he knew he had to ask the question that had been weighing on him. “Paul? Why do you want me to call you Daddy?”

Instead of answering, Paul asked, “Why don’t you want to?”

“It’s weird!” John blurted out, and Paul chuckled as he unfolded the nappy and slipped it underneath John. “I mean, you’re younger than me! It doesn’t make sense for me to call you Daddy…”

“Is that it, because I’m younger than you, love?” Paul spread the baby powder liberally over John’s privates, rubbing it in gently. “That shouldn’t really make a difference, least not in my opinion. I like taking care of you, like a daddy does, and you seem to like being taken care of, like a baby does. Simple as that!”

“You don’t understand,” John whispered. “It’s not just that, it’s… The last time I saw my dad, he was leaving forever. I hardly have any memories of him, and none of the ones I have are good. I don’t… I don’t…” He choked back a sob, blinking back tears. “I don’t want you to leave, Paulie…”

“Oh darling…” Paul had finished pinning the nappy in place, and took John’s face with both his powder-covered hands, kissing him sweetly. “Darling, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I love you, I really do, whether you call me Daddy or whether you wear nappies all the time or none of the time, truly.”

“I love you too,” John whispered against his lips. “Will you take a nap with me?”

“For a little while,” Paul said, running his fingers through John’s thick hair. “You don’t want to go to the show tonight, am I right?”

John whimpered; he had completely forgotten about their Saturday night show, always the loudest and most raucous event of the week before their Sunday rest. He hadn’t said anything to Paul, but he would have given his left foot not to have to go. Paul was already prepared though. 

“Don’t worry about it, lovey,” he murmured. “I just want you to get some rest. I’ve already got a set list ready to go with our best four-piece numbers. I’ll be gone by the time you wake up, so just go into the other room when you do. But remember: even though I’m won’t be here, that still means you have to be on your best behavior, do you understand?”

John felt a small plume of pleasure unfurl in his stomach, feeling prized for being so trusted. “I understand. Thank you, Paulie.” Paul smiled and laid down with his lover, holding him tightly until John’s breathing had slowed and his thumb had found its way back into his mouth.

When John woke, he was disorientated, scanning the dark room for signs of life. He fumbled at his wristwatch, struggling to read the clock’s hands in the dark before finally giving up. His nappy was warm and when he reached down to touch it, he felt the crinkly plastic of his new pants. He wriggled on the bed, shivers running down his spine as the wet nappy rubbed against his sensitive bits. Was he supposed to change himself? Paul did say that he needed to be on his best behavior… Paul also said he should go to the other room when he woke up. Wouldn’t do any harm to stay in his wet nappy a little while longer, would it? The nappy drooped low between John’s thighs as he stood, making him waddle like a toddler as he made his way to the other room.

“Hi, Johnny!” 

John nearly jumped out of his skin as he opened the door only to be greeted by Astrid and Klaus, sitting at the table and smoking cigarettes, several empty beer bottles littering the tabletop. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he shouted, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it as far down over his nappy as it would go. 

Astrid stood from her chair and rushed over to John, wrapping him in a tight hug. John hesitated before hugging her back, his t-shirt snapping back into place. “Oh Johnny, don’t be embarrassed!” she gushed. “Please don’t be, Paul asked us to be here for you tonight. He told us everything.”

“He asked me after I dropped you off this afternoon,” Klaus said, joining their embrace, wrapping either arm around John and Astrid. “Please do not think we are doing this merely to shame you, we Germans tend to have much more open attitudes than your fellow Brits.”

John chuckled, his humiliation slowly retreating. “That much I know is true, there’s nothing like the Reeperbahn anywhere in Liverpool!”

Astrid pulled back, smiling and cupping John’s cheek. “You see, nothing to be scared of! Do you want me to change your nappy?”

John’s smile dropped, his face reddening as he glanced between Astrid and Klaus. Being changed by Paul was one thing, but by a girl?! Astrid only came up to about his chest, tiny and delicate, and he was supposed to lay down and let her change his nappy? He bit his lip, hearing Paul’s instructions in his head. Astrid would surely be giving a report to Paul once he returned, and he just couldn’t receive poor marks… Swallowing all of his reservations and pride, he nodded shyly.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Klaus said. “Why don’t I pop out and buy us some kebab, _ja_? A little treat for today!”

“Excellent!” Astrid agreed. “Don’t dawdle, this won’t take too long and I’m sure Johnny is hungry!”

As if on cue, John’s stomach growled loudly and the trio laughed. Once Klaus left, Astrid led John over to the diaper changing bed, laying him down before removing his plastic pants. Some drops of urine fell to the floor and John shut his eyes in humiliation. “Oh no, don’t fret, Johnny,” Astrid murmured, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “This isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.”

“You’ve had to change a grown-up’s nappy before?” John asked, trying hard to sound casual. 

“No, not exactly,” Astrid replied. She was smiling as she unpinned the nappy, but didn’t linger with her eyes nor her hands, cleaning Johnny as quickly and efficiently as a nurse. “I’ve done a lot of babysitting, and I’ve changed a lot of nappies. I’ve also had a fair number of boyfriends! After a while, boys don’t really surprise you anymore. There, all done!” 

“What, already? Paul takes twice as long!”

Astrid laughed, rising from the bed and reaching out a hand to help John up as well. “I doubt Paul has the babysitting experience I’ve had!” 

Klaus returned with three döner kebabs and a slew of chips, as well as a case of beer. “We might as well have a good time since we’re not at the show!” he said, and both Astrid and John cheered in agreement. They stuffed themselves heartily, and guzzled the beer, all three becoming fairly tipsy. John was having the most enjoyable night he’d had since arriving in Hamburg, and even though he only wore his t-shirt and nappy, he felt just as comfortable if he had been wearing anything else. 

The two Germans didn’t mention John’s nappy or anything that might have been going on behind closed doors, at least not until Klaus drunkenly reached over and patted John’s padded bottom. “Do you like it though?” he asked, his eyes twinkling though his cheeks were slightly red. “What’s it feel like?”

Maybe the alcohol loosened his tongue, or maybe it was the blush on Klaus’ cheeks that made John tell the truth. “I do like it,” John confessed. “I had always fought against wearing nappies, even though my aunt begged me to, but now… Now they feel so good against me, and Paul…” He trailed off, blushing furiously at the memories of Paul babying him in such a deliciously humiliating way. “Paul’s helped me learn some things about myself…”

“I wanna try it!” Klaus declared, finishing his beer in one large gulp. “Astrid, will you do the honors?”

“What?” John gasped, giggling in disbelief. “You actually want to wear a nappy?”

“Don’t want you to have all the fun!” Klaus said with a wink. “Astrid?”

Astrid laughed and jumped up from her chair. “Yes, nappies for all the boys!” She stood Klaus up, ushering him over to the bed, speaking softly in German, words John didn’t understand. Klaus responded in kind, and just like that, he had his pants and trousers off, and was spread out on the bed, his hands resting behind his head while Astrid powdered him and pinned the nappy into place. 

“Not bad!” he said, giving his padded crotch a single firm squeeze. “Very comfortable!”

Astrid patted Klaus’ backside, giggling. “This would be very useful for riding bicycles, no? Pad your bottom from the hard seat and no stops for toilet breaks!”

There was no teasing, no tears of humiliation from Klaus, the three of them simply carried on like they had been before. John got rip-roaringly drunk, and when he felt the need to pee, he simply let go, flooding his nappy while he sat at the table with Astrid and Klaus. He didn’t notice the knowing smile they exchanged, but he didn’t fuss when Astrid changed him, even though he knew Klaus was watching. Everything seemed so normal. Eventually, the two Germans insisted on tucking John into his cot, and John gave in with little protest, drifting into a sweet dream where Paul had built an entire nursery for him, complete with a crib and changing table. 

When he woke next, Paul was already sitting next to him, his hair tousled from sleep. “Good morning, little love,” he crooned. “Astrid and Klaus told me that you were so good for them last night!”

John giggled in pleasure. “Paul, Klaus wore my nappies! He wanted to!”

Paul laughed as well, running his hand down the front of John’s wet nappy, soaked from all the beer he had drank the night before. “I know, he was still wearing it when we got back. Stuart tried to tease him, but it didn’t work because Klaus just didn’t care!”

At Stuart’s name, John’s smile fell, thinking back to what had happened yesterday. “Is Stuart angry at me?”

“Of course not, love,” Paul said automatically. “Astrid was quite angry with him for acting the way he did, but I think they made up. Stu said something about him possibly moving in with her and her mum.”

“Good,” John muttered, surprising himself. Only a week ago, he would have been devastated to see Stuart leave their group, even if he wasn’t actually quitting the band, but now it felt like a blessing. Paul changed him, not stopping to play with John’s eager erection, but instead of telling John to wash the wet one out, he picked it up himself.

“You just wait here,” he said soothingly. “I’ll wash this out and get you something to eat, how does that sound?”

“Good,” John whispered, smiling up at Paul. He felt so small looking up at him, so helpless having to rely on him, but he knew Paul liked providing for him, taking care of him… He had told Paul that he wasn’t ready to call him Daddy, but maybe… 

It was their day off, so once Paul returned, they simply lazed around their room, eating jam sandwiches and reading their books, or at least Paul seemed to be reading. John simply looked at the text and illustrations in his copy of _Through the Looking Glass_ , his mind far away in that nursery Paul had built for him. The quiet was blissful, but it couldn’t last for long.

John began to squirm, feeling a familiar pressure taking hold in his bowels. The kebab from last night was delicious, but the day after was the price to pay. Paul hadn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in his novel to pay attention to John’s squirming. He didn’t want to say anything, not just yet. Though he would be loath to admit it, he loved the feeling of having to go, like a full-body shiver that kept going until he relieved himself. 

Finally, he knew that his time was running short, so he stood from his bed, shuffling over to Paul’s prone form. “Will you take me to the potty?” he mumbled, staring at his feet instead of meeting Paul’s eyes. “I have to go number two…”

“Can you wait just a little while, lovey?” Paul said, turning a page in his book. “I’m almost at the end of the chapter.”

“But, Paul!” John whined, fidgeting in place. “Please, I really gotta go!”

“You can hold it for a few minutes, can’t you?” Paul teased. “You keep telling me that you’re not a baby, can you prove it? Or you can just go in your nappy.”

John gasped, cheeks blooming red. “I can’t do that!” The pressure was growing, and he groaned a little, turning away from Paul to pace the room.

“I won’t mind, you know,” Paul said, turning his attention back to his book. “Really. You can go in your nappy and I’ll change you.”

John moaned, the image of Paul opening his soiled nappy short-circuiting the synapses in his brain. He couldn’t do that, could he? His raging erection said he could, pressing firmly against the front of the cotton nappy. He kept pacing, but to his embarrassment, broke wind several times, loudly enough for Paul to hear. 

“You really need to go, don’t you?” Paul chuckled, finally setting down his book and sitting up. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to make a stinky in your nappy for me?”

John whimpered, hugging himself as he stared into Paul’s eyes from across the room. “Please don’t make me,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling.

“I’m not making you, Johnny,” Paul responded gently. “All I’m saying is that if you were to make a poopoo in your nappy, I wouldn’t have a problem with changing you.” He stood, crossing the room to stroke John’s cheek, his eyes sparkling playfully. “Is that you want to do for me, little baby? You wanna fill your nappy for Daddy?”

In that moment, John lost any control he had left. He dropped into a squat, scrunched his face, and _pushed_. Immediately, the back of his nappy was hot and squishy, and it drooped considerably under the new weight. John sobbed, tears streaming down his bright red cheeks as he stared up at Paul, whose eyes were as big as saucers. There could be no more lying to himself: he was just a baby.

“Daddy!” John sobbed as he continued to empty himself into his nappy, seemingly neverending. “Daddy, I had an accident!”

“It’s okay, little Johnny,” Paul whispered, dropping to his knees and pulling John into a hug. John felt his hand sneak below his waist, feeling the weight of John’s messy nappy in the palm of his hand, and he moaned loudly, still aroused more than anything else. “Daddy told you it was all right to go poopoo in your nappy, didn’t he? I’m so proud of my little baby!”

John cooed through his tears and sniffles, even as a flood of urine came streaming into the front of his nappy. Paul held his chin, forcing John to look into his eyes as the last of his urine trickled out of him. “You need to tell me the truth though, Johnny,” he said firmly. “I told you that if you had one more accident, you’ll need to wear nappies full-time, and that goes double if you’re going to be having poopy accidents. So tell me now: did you go poopoo on purpose or did you really have an accident?”

John swallowed, though his mouth had gone completely dry. Perhaps he’d live to regret this, but Paul looked so kind, and he felt so absolutely helpless as his nappy grew heavier and heavier between his legs. “It was an accident, Daddy,” he whispered. 

Paul’s smile grew from ear-to-ear. “That’s okay, baby,” he crooned. “Just lie back on the floor and Daddy will change that dirty nappy for you.” 

John winced as Paul urged him to lie on the floor, his mess squishing against his backside. A fresh wave of tears rolled over him and he began to sob and wail, squalling like the baby he truly was. “Hush, little baby,” Paul instructed, pulling the pins from the nappy. “Daddy will get you changed in no time.”

John held his breath as Paul revealed his shame, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see his reaction, but Paul only laughed breathlessly. “Such a messy little baby!” he whispered. “But your little cocklet is ready for playtime, isn’t it?”

John moaned, thrusting his hips up, but Paul held them in place with one strong hand. “Ah-ah,” he warned. “No playtime before we get the messy baby cleaned up!” 

John cooed as Paul ran the baby wipe over his dirty bottom, paying special attention to the area between John’s cheeks. He had never felt so much like a baby, so completely vulnerable and obedient to Paul’s every word. The humiliation was all-encompassing, but so was his arousal, and he remained motionless, as if enthralled, until Paul declared he was done. 

“Daddy, I need you,” John whimpered, bucking his hips up. “Please, oh please…”

“Tell Daddy what you need,” Paul ordered, holding John’s chin in place, his voice a rough growl. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“Fuck me, Daddy!” John cried, spreading his legs wide on the floor. 

Paul let out a loud groan and smashed his lips to John’s, kissing him brutally before pulling off his own clothes. Taking his jar of lubrication, he began to fuck John with two, then three fingers, making John clasp his hand over his mouth as he struck John’s prostate, but he yanked John’s arm down. “I want to hear you, baby Johnny,” he rasped. “I wanna hear all the sounds you make when Daddy fucks your bummy for the first time.” 

The fingers were removed, making John whine from the loss, but they were quickly replaced by Paul’s cock. More than the head, pushing all the way in, deeper and deeper until John felt like he was being split in two. “Daddy, you’re so big!” he whimpered, struggling to keep his tears from falling. “Daddy, I don’t know—”

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Paul praised, finally all the way inside. “You feel so fucking good around me, fits me just like a little glove. Such a good little baby!”

John let out a tiny moan as Paul began to thrust in and out of him; everything else fell from his mind, nothing left except Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! He wrapped his legs around Paul’s waist, holding on for dear life as Paul’s pace became faster and faster.

“I wish everyone could see you like this, Johnny,” Paul whispered into his ear. “Such a good little baby, just for me! Who do you belong to, little baby?”

“Daddy!” John gasped, his back arching as Paul took his aching cock into his left hand. “I belong to Daddy!”

“You belong to Daddy,” Paul repeated, capturing John’s lips in a wet and passionate kiss as he stroked John to completion. “You’re mine and no one else’s.”

John must have passed out after his orgasm, because by the time he came to, he was back in his cot and Paul was closing the final pin of his clean nappy. “There we go, sweetheart!” he said in a sing-song tone. “Are you going to be all right in here by yourself while Daddy cleans out your stinky nappy?”

John nodded sleepily, sticking his thumb between his lips without a second thought. Paul grinned and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, slipping John’s teddy bear between his arms. He may never become a real grown-up, and at this point, he may never graduate from nappies, but as long as Paul was there to take care of him, John knew that he didn’t regret any of his decisions.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with me till the end, guys! I have no idea how this fic became so massive, but much thanks for all the love and wonderful comments! I'll try to write something sweet for next time! <3 Bonus easter egg: if you watch "Dark" then it might have already crossed your mind, but Hannah in the nappy shop is supposed to be Hannah Kahnwald! I'm positive nobody was thinking that and nobody cares, but it was fun for me lol.


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